Flowers and Cigarettes
by Calla Mae
Summary: When does a one night stand constitute a second night, or a third? Tim asked himself this as he thought of Lyla Crowder. She was more dangerous than a rattlesnake and it wasn't that she was mean, which she was, it's that she was charming. Tim wanted more, and he didn't know he was playing right into her hands. Tim/OC
1. Chapter 1

The first time Tim saw her she was sitting at a bar, and he didn't have the kindest of opinion based on his first look. She had a mane of dark curls a cigarette between her lips, dusty cowboy boots halfway to her knees, a man's shirt tucked into a pair of shorts that were all but nonexistent, and a greasy man on her left trying to buy her a drink. A prostitute, that was his first thought of her.

"This ain't baseball. I said no the first time I'm sayin' no now, third time you won't just strike out I'll break your damn nose."

Tim sat a seat down from her hearing the man mumble, "bitch," as he walked away. His opinion had changed, she obviously wasn't a prostitute.

"Now that wasn't very nice," the bartender told her as he stood in front Tim. "What can I get you?"

She rolled her eyes taking a long drink as the guy who'd sat down gave his order. "Anyone tells you I'm nice they're lyin'," she said when the bartender poured more whiskey in her glass.

The older man smiled. "It's on the house, you look like you had a shitty day."

"More like the whole week," she muttered gladly accepting his alcohol.

"This one," he said to Tim, "comes all the way from Harlan for my whiskey."

Tim nodded believing it. "Everyone buys the cheap shit 'cept for you," he agreed looking at the dark haired woman beside him wondering if she was in the system. It seemed like most of the people in Harlan had a record, it'd be more surprising if he didn't know her. "You know a Raylan Givens?" The first time since he'd sat down he got a full view of her face as she turned to him, and if he'd seen her face first he'd have known she wasn't a whore. It wasn't that she was beautiful, which she most certainly was, there was something in the way she sat there with no makeup barely dressed not trying to be anyone but herself.

She stared at the man no more than three years older than her, her eyes falling to his belt looking for a badge. "You a Marshal too?"

He smiled at her answer, or rather that she didn't answer, recognizing she did in fact know Raylan and that she'd probably spoken to several Marshals in her lifetime. "Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson," he said holding out his hand.

"It's nice to meet you Tim," she greeted as she shook his hand. Again he smiled, or grinned – she wasn't sure since his eyes didn't entirely smile with him. Either way he was handsome, wearing a button-up and slacks with his hair neat. There weren't many guys as put together as him or Raylan in Harlan, and she knew exactly how he'd look at her if he knew who she was. "Lyla," she told him simply.

His brows rose when she returned her small hand to her side without offering anything else. That should've been his first warning, but he'd caught sight of her long legs. "Well now I have to know who you are."

She downed the rest of her whiskey, enjoying the fire in her throat, and shook her head. "You wouldn't be talkin' to me if you knew who my family was," she told him, he already knew she was from Harlan so he'd have a pretty good idea what kinda person she was – he just didn't know who exactly, and the exact who is what'd turn him away.

That should've been his second warning. He should've nodded, paid for her drink, and left it at that. He should've done a lot of things that night but he did nothing to stop it, cause then she leaned closer and told him, "what happens next is up to you, Tim Gutterson," and then she turned away. There was no smile, no batting her eyes, nothing to show she was at all interested in what happened next; she was leaving it all up to him. And there was something irresistible in a woman who didn't try to be sexy – it either happened or it didn't. Be it her hair, which was so wild it spanned the width of her shoulders daring him to tangle his hands in her curls, or her full pretty mouth that formed around the words 'thank you' as the bartender refilled her glass. Whatever it was, which simply could've been the fact that she still hadn't looked back at him and he wasn't used to that, he turned to the man behind the bar and pointed to her glass. "I'll have what she's havin."

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth but her eyes didn't soften – there was something cold in her stare, and it wasn't just how strikingly pale of a blue they were, but it burned. If it weren't for that smile, which was nothing more than the curling of half her mouth, he might've come to his senses and turned away. But she was beautiful and different, she was unknown territory; and hell if he didn't like a good puzzle.

Which is how he found himself several glasses and an hour and a half later with sweat on his chest nearly panting as he rolled off of her. He turned to see her eyes on the ceiling, her hair splayed out around her head like a dark halo – it'd almost surprised him when he got close enough to find beneath the smoke he could smell flowers. A lot of things surprised him about her. "You want a beer?"

She turned to him, brows knitted with curiosity. "I'm good," she said watching him give a curt nod before he pulled on his briefs and left the room. She'd seen the army tattoo on his wrist, she hadn't said anything of it and he didn't offer – and alcoholics were nothing new to her, which she now wondered if he was considering how many glasses of whiskey they'd knocked back.

Tim returned to his room to find his bed empty. If it weren't for a sudden warm breeze he might not have noticed her sitting at the window. Her skin was pale as the moonlight, her dark hair blending into the shadows on the wall behind her, and he just stood in the doorway staring at her. "You always smoke after sex?" he asked watching her blow smoke into the night. It said something about her that she'd gone to the window, that she hadn't assumed. She was a hard woman to read, an hour of talking later he still didn't know what kind of a person she was; what he did know was that she was considerate enough to not taint his house with her cigarette.

She found herself almost smiling as she answered. "I do when it's good." She should've gone with the pervert at the bar – all she needed was a bed for the night and he probably would've passed out as soon as he came. But then Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson had sat down and she'd thought hell why not enjoy the night, she hadn't give any thought to liking him but she was getting damn close. She looked up when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye to see him moving to sit beside her, an almost smug look on his face at her admitting the sex was good.

She was as naked as when he left her, and he liked that she hadn't gone for his shirt as another woman might've done – maybe because it showed she was comfortable in her own skin or maybe because she didn't care, or maybe he just enjoyed the view. He could see the place where her stomach folded from how she sat, could see the width of her thigh. She sat baring every imperfection and yet she gazed at the stars without a care in the world for what he thought of her. "You'd stay the night whether or not I offered," he said already knowing the answer but he wanted to hear her reason.

"If it makes it better I'll be gone fore you wake up," she said seeing him smirk as he raised the bottle to his mouth – that was all she needed to know to wake up before sunrise. "I still gotta talk to Raylan."

He turned to her at that, knowing what she hadn't said. "You used me for a bed," he said remembering that small curling of her mouth from the bar – she'd known he would say yes before she even offered. He'd been a mouse and she'd sunk her claws in.

She smiled then, seeing a mix of impressed and erection. "I used you for the sex too," she admitted earning herself a quiet laugh from him. Everything about him was quiet, and still – he was both calming and off putting.

They sat quietly for several minutes, it wasn't uncomfortable and it wasn't heavy, they just sat there breathing feeling both infinite and temporary. He didn't know how much time had passed since they stopped talking only that it was so rare to find someone who didn't need to fill every silence with idle words, that sometimes it was okay to just be. And he turned to her wondering if she was thinking the same but he didn't have to wonder too long. He'd learned from his time watching his targets that every person had a face they made when no one was looking, and Lyla had the saddest face he thought he'd ever seen. What he wouldn't have given to see inside her mind, to find out who this woman he'd let into his home was. But he didn't ask; he wasn't that kind of man and he knew she was the kind of woman who would've left just to avoid answering. So instead he asked, "you ever gonna tell me your last name?" He watched the mask fall into place before she looked at him, and he had a feeling from the way she didn't try to smile that she knew he'd seen her.

"If you really wanna know you could go down to Harlan and ask, just about everyone knows me," she told him, honestly wondering if he'd bother – not like it'd matter, as soon as he found out he'd be on his way back to Lexington without looking back.

"Alright, Lyla with the hair," he said smiling when she gave a short laugh. That laugh had surprised her, he could see it in the way she raised a hand to her mouth – she wasn't used to laughing. God he wanted to know her. "What were you thinking about?"

She looked at his face to see honest curiosity in his eyes. It hit her, she'd made a huge mistake with him. "Ask me the next time you see me," she said pulling herself to her feet. "If you still wanna know," she added as she climbed in the bed, feeling his eyes burning her skin. She waited as he threw his bottle in the trash, turning to see his gun was on the nightstand where he'd removed it – she didn't like that it was in reach.  
Her brother had been in Afghanistan and he'd come home with several stories and a handful of nightmares that eventually worked themselves out. But before they had she'd come into his room when he was napping one day, she didn't even remember what she wanted, but she'd startled him awake and he'd grabbed his gun and pulled the trigger – lucidness had returned quickly and he found her standing white as a sheet with a bullet half an inch from her head in the door frame.  
That was now two things she had to do; the first being to take the clip out of Tim's gun after he fell asleep, and the second was to leave before sunrise. He laid on his back beside her and she turned to him. "What happens next is up to you."

Hearing those words for a second time that night had him rolling toward her. "You want there to be a next," he said wondering if that was the intention behind her words – because on a second listen he could hear there was something else she was saying that he couldn't quite make out.

Her smile was gentle, just a twitch of her mouth, but there was something genuine in it. "I haven't decided yet," she told him, catching the slight raising of his brow. "If you leave it to me I'll just be gone in the morning, and when my family gets outta prison and you Marshals come after 'em I'll pretend like I don't know you. And where's the fun in knowing what'll happen?"

He couldn't shake the feeling she was playing him, or playing _with_ him. He'd seen it at the bar in her little smirk before she turned to him and smiled, before they started talking; there was something hiding under her skin and she wasn't letting him see it. "You seem to know what I'll do when I find out who you are."

Oh he really was a mistake, she could see in his eyes he was interested in knowing her – actually knowing her – and if she had more will power she'd have stopped by now. But she couldn't seem to make herself. "Expectin' ain't the same as knowin," she said taking note of the way his eyes were trained on hers, there was no movement just watching. Looking. "But I suspect you'll call on me, least one more time. See if I live up to tonight."

"Is that so?" he asked wondering if she'd read his curiosity, if she'd read him before he could read her.

Her grin would've put the Cheshire cat to shame. "You're used to lookin' at someone and knownin' what kinda person they are. And you've been lookin' at me all night. But you're never gonna know me Tim Gutterson. What I can't figure is if you'll take that as a challenge or a sign to stay away. So 'next' is up to you." She turned on her back and faced the ceiling, letting his mind go wherever it decided, feeling the long drawn out minutes before he turned away and then even more before he fell asleep. She felt him go, his body relaxed his breathing deepened. She quietly sat up and went around the other side of the bed to unload his gun, knowing better than to lean over him when that would just wake him. And then she looked down at his half-lit face – he really was handsome – thinking having a Marshal in her back pocket might not be such a bad thing.

…

The moment he opened his eyes Tim knew he was alone. Even still he turned to his left expecting to see her dark hair fanning the pillow as she slept. Maybe even hoping for it. It took him a moment, several moments of laying back wondering if she'd been half as interesting as his partially drunken mind remembered, before he smelled the smoke. He turned to the nightstand to see a cigarette as it burned out; and he knew he'd missed her by less than five minutes.

It wasn't until he got to work that he realized he didn't have to go to Harlan to find out who she was, Harlan's desk was right next to him. "Hey Raylan, do you know a Lyla?"

"Hair out to here?" Raylan asked holding both hands out to his shoulders.

Tim nearly smiled as he nodded. "That's the one."

Raylan looked at the younger man a moment before laughing. "Shit. She didn't tell me who she shacked up with just that he'd ask. I take it it's you?" Raylan continued chuckling at realizing Tim was on his way to smitten – he hadn't even said hello, the first thing out of that boy's mouth had been Lyla. As she'd known. "Lyla Crowder," he said watching that name hit Tim like a slap in the face. "Came to talk to me about shooting Boyd."

"Her brother?"

"Mmhm," Raylan hummed in agreement, a grin pulling on his mouth as he watched Tim sit down without another word.

Crowder. Tim wished he'd have seen that coming, _should_ have seen that coming – she'd warned him a handful of times her last name changed everything. Bo Crowder was notorious among law enforcement, was the biggest meth dealer in all of Kentucky before he was incarcerated. And Tim had just spent the night with his daughter.  
"Shit."

* * *

_This is an idea I've had for quite some time, and I just started watching the fifth season and the idea came back and this time I'm gonna try to write it. So let me know what you think so far, cause Tim is a hard character to write, and what you thought of Lyla cause I'm hoping she'll turn out being a character you just can't guess what she'll do and whether or not she's actually good. Thank you very much for reading. _


	2. Chapter 2

Lyla had set her watch to five thirty, left it on the bathroom counter, and closed the door the night before. It'd be quiet enough not to wake Tim but she'd been doing this long enough that she knew it'd wake her.

And sure enough when five thirty rolled around the faint beeping tore her from sleep. Taking his gun in the bathroom she reloaded it, fluffed her hair, and stepped back into his room to find him still on his side turned to the place she'd been laying. He looked so peaceful, relaxed; she didn't realize how alert he'd been last night until she saw him then without a care in the world as he slept. He didn't know she was holding his gun, didn't know if she was anyone else in her family she'd have killed him. But she didn't. She put his gun back on the nightstand. Whether or not she wanted there to be a next time she lit a cigarette and took a long drag, sighing as nicotine filled her lungs, and then laid it on the gun - giving him a timeframe of just how close he'd come to catching her before she disappeared. A memento, a reminder, a beacon - she didn't know what it was only that she was giving him a reason to wanna see her again.

She walked on the side of the road with her boots in hand, waiting for someone to drive by so she could hitch a ride back to the bar. She didn't even have to stick her thumb out when the first truck came upon her, they slowed all on their own - a white girl walkin' before the sun had come up, any man would stop.

"Lyla?" a man called, rolling beside her to keep pace.

She breathed in the sweet smell of luck as she turned to the bartender. "Hey Mike, I was just headin' to get my car."

He checked his mirror before stopping and leaning across the seat to open the door. "Well hop in, I'm on my way," he offered kindly. He didn't know it but he'd saved her from having to give head for a ride, which was the usual payment expected. But he'd been happily married, for the most part, twenty-five years and so when they got to his bar he let her out with nothing more than a see you later as he saw her off.

A quarter to six Lyla rolled into the hotel parking lot still a ways from sunrise. He wouldn't be anywhere near ready to get up but she knocked loudly on his door anyway.

Raylan didn't know who to expect when he opened the door. It was too damn early for it to be Art, and Winona hadn't exactly been happy to see him last night. A woman in her mid-twenties with the most sensual hair and the sweetest mouth was not what he'd expected. Without saying hello she looked down at the gun in his hand, and without any concern for it her eyes turned back to his face as she took a slow drag of her cigarette.

"If I didn't know you I might find you handsome."

With lips barely parted, he watched smoke drift from her mouth. Before he even asked he knew the answer was yes: "do I know you?" Her only answer was the slow blinking of her too blue eyes, her mouth once more pursed around her cigarette as she inhaled. But that stare was all he needed because while her brother's eyes were brown there was something incredibly similar in their gaze – side by side the siblings were a pair of two crazy haired snake eyed criminals. "Lyla Jo," he said, his shoulders relaxing as his eyes trailed the length of her body.

A half smile pulled on the corner of her mouth at seeing he was the same as she remembered. "I thought I heard wrong when Devil told me you shot Boyd," she watched his jaw tighten at the reminder of whose sister she was.

"Well, he pulled first," Raylan said now not knowing what she wanted. She hadn't hit him yet, didn't even look like she was upset. He didn't know what to think of her, twenty years was a long time and he could see she wasn't the same sweet kid – this woman was hard and calculating.

Lyla knew the details of that night starting from Devil and Dewey tailing Raylan. Devil didn't try to pretend they were mindin' their own business, nor did he forego the embarrassment of Raylan sneaking up on them and then forcin' 'em to handcuff themselves to each other – Devil had known her long enough to not care what she thought of him, was comfortable enough with her he had no need to save face. The same couldn't be said for Dewey, who'd given her an elaborate account of how they'd been doing nothing and Raylan had come outta nowhere and for no good reason broke his nose. Both men had been arrested and both of them had used their one call to talk to her; Devil to tell her what happened and that he was being transferred to Big Sandy knowing she'd take care of things for him, and Dewey had called her cause Devil had and in the process of spinning his tail Dewey realized he'd meant to call family to take care of his stuff while he was incarcerated. She'd spent the entire drive yesterday from Harlan to Lexington on the phone with his father, who talked as much as shit as his son.  
But the rest of the story, when Raylan had reached Boyd, Lyla heard from the police. Informing her hadn't exactly been a priority, Devil had called before the police did, and the officer who spoke to her couldn't have cared less. "I think I was more surprised to hear you were back," she said leaving her anger at him having shot Boyd for later, when she didn't need him.

Her response, which had almost been pleasant, had taken him so aback it drew a short laugh from him. "You turned into trouble," he said thinking if he didn't remember her as the kid he'd known when he left he might have it in mind to take her to bed. She had long beautiful legs, shown off in just about the shortest pair of shorts, and if he was right she hadn't even come in a bra – with her messy hair she looked like she'd rolled outta bed right after sex. "What can I do for you, Lyla?"

She leaned against the doorway, watching his eyes fall to the inside of her thigh which he could now see. "Well, I need a favor and I thought you might have the most sympathy for me."

"Cause I shot Boyd," he said having realized he should've known she wanted something.

"Cause you knew me when I's little," she said, the sweet little grin he'd loved curled on a much more alluring mouth; and despite himself, because he knew she was using him, he smiled and beckoned her inside the room. She waited as he pulled on a shirt, considered putting on pants, before he sat on the bed and motioned to the place beside him. With her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap she looked at his waiting face. "I wanted to see my daddy."

He'd been thinking of the few times he'd passed out at Boyd's and he'd woken up to her asking if he wanted breakfast, more often than not she'd have sat herself on the bed and shaken his arm. Her daddy, that took him by surprise. "That's a big favor," he said knowing her request would be brushed aside since Boyd was not only alive but on his way to prison.

"I know," she said, her shoulders dropping as she sighed. "I just got a lot to do for Bowman's funeral. Like where in our family plot does daddy want 'im, does he want anything special put on the gravestone, how much money I should spend? Does he even know Bowman's dead, cause if he don't I won't tell him over the phone."

Raylan looked at her pretty face, her mouth now slightly pouting as she stared at the floor. He'd almost forgotten she had to deal with Bowman's funeral, that she was the only family that wasn't currently in prison who could deal with it. And looking at her face, made all the more lovely by the sadness that was perfectly etched in her features, he was already thinking how he could get Art to agree. "You'd most likely have an escort."

She looked up at him and smiled gently, knowing that was his agreement. "If he's not busy it'll probably be Mr. Mullen."

It shouldn't have been a surprise, he knew, considering who her family was. But still he asked; "You know Art?"

"I've known him for years," she said sitting back with an arm propping her up. "He don't believe anything in my file, but he thinks I'm cute."

He nodded knowing Art probably did, and knowing Art did not believe a word said about her – a single speeding ticket, that was all her record consisted of. She'd been interrogated several times, everyone involved with her daddy had been thoroughly questioned about her involvement in his drug business; but every single person said she played no part, she was kept completely separate. And it was entirely unbelievable – Raylan himself didn't even believe it. He looked at her seeing her face was now placid and her body completely relaxed. "You were just poutin' a second ago," he said realizing she good and well played him. And he could do nothing more than shake his head at how easily she'd done it, and how easily he allowed it.

She gave a brief hum and a quick nod, flashing him a grin that had him smiling in return as he looked away. "You mind if I take a shower?" she asked him. "I came by last night but you weren't here, I shacked up with a guy I met at a bar and left fore he woke. Which is why we're both up at the butt-crack of dawn."

He stared at her with brows raised nearing his hairline – she'd picked up a guy at a bar in order to have a bed for the night, and there she sat with her leg pressed against his with unfeeling nonchalance. "You really are trouble now," he said staring hard at her face. He'd missed it before, probably because she was an incredibly convincing actress, but there was something unreadable in her eyes – something that should've had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. But he still associated her with the child she'd once been when she was still innocent.

"He was a decent guy, probably one of the better people I've met," she said sparing little thought to Tim – he wasn't the Marshal she needed now. "You know him."

"Do I?"

"You'll see him today," she said seeing his searching look had gone and he was now curious as to who the guy from the bar was, which is exactly what she wanted. "Tell me when he asks about me, and if it was the first thing he asked."

He shook his head smiling, thoughts of her eyes looking like several criminals he'd come across now faded from his mind as he looked at her warm face. "You're buyin' me breakfast, go get in the shower."

She leaned forward and quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek before she moved to the bathroom and pushed the door so it was only barely open.

Raylan looked at the clock to see it was six, the sun not risen. He looked up at the sound of her syrupy voice saying his name, and his jaw just about fell in his lap when he saw she was standing in the doorway in nothing but her underwear.

"Do you think there's anyway I could see Boyd, since I'm up here and all?" she asked seeing she'd gotten the reaction out of him that she wanted, and his mind was so focused on her breasts he was just starting to catch on to what she said. "Even if it's five minutes, just to see he's alive."

When it finally did register he looked at her to see not a sweet face, but an almost devilish one. "You're playing me like a fiddle." He'd been a fool the moment he opened the door.

Her smile made him think of something he'd heard years before, never trust a grinning cat. "You play a mighty fine tune," she told him, not bothering to close the door as she slipped out of her panties and stepped in the shower. Leaving him to stare after her realizing he'd given her everything she wanted without so much as a second thought.

…

They'd spent the majority of breakfast talking about Florida - she'd never been out of Kentucky but one time. Boyd had asked her why she was blue and she'd told him she felt like she'd die exactly where she sat on the porch then and she wasn't at all happy knowin' it; he'd thrown her over his shoulder and carried her to Dewey's car and they drove off just the two of them, leaving Dewey running after them hollering. They'd crossed the West Virginia state line and he'd pulled over and they laid in the grass singing old country songs. As the sun began to set they drove back to Harlan. Somehow Boyd had known what she really wanted, which was just to get away. Driving back with the windows down and the warm air blowing their hair every which way, dying in Harlan didn't seem so bad long as Boyd was with her. That of course had changed with the years, like Boyd and her had changed; it wasn't so much about never getting out of Harlan as it was about actually surviving it, and the odds were stacked against the Crowders. So she'd sat hanging on every word about Florida, and Georgia - imagining a life that would never be hers.

"What about you, how've you been?" Raylan asked when he'd looked at his watch to see he'd been talking for half an hour. He didn't know if he'd ever talked so long, but she'd been staring at him with such curiosity he hardly noticed.

She shrugged sitting back. "I'mma time this, I predict no more than two minutes."

"Oh Lyla, I'm sure twenty years'll take at least five."

With a smile she looked at her watch. "You know Harlan, it ain't takin' five minutes. Well," she started turning her eyes back to his face, "I graduated high school. I tried my hand at college but it wasn't for me, or my daddy. And now I'm the manager of a convenience store. The owner's an old drunk so I do everything: hirin', trainin', keepin' track of stock, bookkeepin'. He's made mention of selling me the store and I'll probably take it, become the drunk, higher an awesome young woman to take care of it, and then give it her. And there you go, that's the twenty years you missed and how the next twenty years'll play out. All in under two minutes."

Her outlook on life was bitter and jaded, and quite possibly angry at her circumstance – the same way he'd looked at his own life in Harlan – and yet somehow she found it in herself to make light of it. It was something Raylan had never been able to do, and he smiled gently at seeing her perseverance had remained. "So long as you stay outta trouble," he reminded her.

"Trouble as far as you'll know," she said admitting there were things law enforcement didn't know, which was something Raylan was already very well aware of. "What time do you have to go to work?" She waited as he checked his watch, knowing from his sigh it was soon.

Which is how she found herself in the parking lot outside the Marshal's office waiting as Raylan went to talk to Art, who may or may not let her see Boyd but he'd at least get her to see her daddy. He found her twenty minutes later with a leg propped up on the window readin' a newspaper.

"You're in luck," he said leaning against her car. "I'm goin' to transfer Dewey Crowe, who happens to be in the same detention center as Boyd. Tim will be your escort and he'll pick you up there."

Her brows rose at that, or maybe they rose at the sight of Raylan in an old pale hat for the first time; hell if it didn't suit him. "Does Mr. Mullen know we met last night?"

Raylan hummed as he smiled. "I mentioned it. Art thinks if he sees you directly involved with your family he'll be less inclined to wanna sleep with you again."

"And what do you think?"

"I told him I was pretty sure _you_ slept with him," Raylan told her. The little smile she gave told him all he needed to know, which was that she'd fooled Tim like she'd fooled him. One day and already he was seeing she might be too much trouble. "You were the first thing he asked about."

She wondered if that might be the case, but she hadn't been entirely sure with Tim – she didn't quite know what to expect with him, and it almost peaked her interest. "Guess I'll find out how he takes the news," she said finding she was incredibly interested in seeing what Tim would have to say. She hadn't expected to see him so soon; it'd either work against her or for her, and she would soon find out.


	3. Chapter 3

Lyla followed Raylan into the detention center – a place she'd been to on more than one occasion to pay the bail on whichever member of her family had been arrested. Some days it felt like she'd been in every prison, jail, detention center, and police station in all of Eastern Kentucky. But the area surrounding Lexington seemed to be the place she most often ventured.

"This gentlemen's gonna search you," Raylan told her. "It'll happen again at the prison, only you'll be searched going in and out."

"Maybe Tim'll be the one to do it, he'll remember puttin' his hands on me last night."

Raylan looked at her stoic face and turned to the man behind the desk not knowing what he was supposed to say to that – her tone had been so bland, so unfeeling, but her words had been full of arousal.

"Shit if I don't wanna be that guy." When the officer removed his gaze from Lyla's figure he was met with the sight of Raylan's now hardened eyes, and the grin melted from his face as he quickly grabbed the paper the U.S. Marshal needed to sign.

Lyla silently watched the exchange, seeing exactly what she wanted; for Raylan to still think of her as a kid. He had patience for her, tolerance to the clear signs she was up to no good – the memory he had of her allowed him to convince himself she was still a sweet person. He didn't know better yet, and as soon as he did all leniency he had for her would wilt.

She nodded along as an officer explained the dos and don'ts of this visit; she was being allowed two minutes, she could kiss Boyd before she left but her hands were to remain at her side for the remainder of the time. When she was finished being briefed and was walked down to the medical unit Raylan had already finished saying whatever he'd wanted to say to Boyd.

"I could only get you two minutes," he said knowing they'd told her.

"It's two more than I had."

He found himself so fond of her then, at seeing she was taking her two minutes without fuss – he'd expected irritation or more pouting, an attempt to talk her way into more time. But she took what she was given. _This_ was the girl he remembered, and he smiled at the sight of her. "In case it's a while before I see you again," he bent down to kiss her cheek. "You grew up nice, Lyla Jo."

She smiled sweetly at him, gauging his own smile to see he meant it. "I hope you feel the same when you see me next," she said knowing whatever brought them together it wouldn't end in him favoring her. He was a Marshal, he'd taken on the law, and she'd grown up in a house without it. She stepped around him and entered the room, a guard directly at her back, to find her brother hooked up to several machines – a thin layer of gauze down the middle of his chest where they'd cut him open.

His eyes opened with irritation thinking it was Raylan again, and all he wanted to do now was fall into a drug induced sleep. "Hey baby," he slurred quietly at the sight of his sister.

She stopped a foot from his bed, her signal she was close enough being the guard clearing his throat, and she was struck with such an urge to lay down next to him. "Just seein' you're still here," she told him, watching his eyes blink slowly a clear sign he'd fall asleep soon.

"You always were Raylan's favorite," he said knowing she talked her way into getting him to agree.

She didn't remember it that way; Boyd and Raylan hadn't been the best of friends but they'd certainly shared some kinda bond. She smiled all the same. "I am the favorite Crowder after all," she said earning herself a laugh from him, a breathy painful attempt at amusement but a laugh all the same. "I got him to let me see daddy," she said watching his brows raise. "They released Bowman's body, I gotta make arrangements."

Boyd mumbled something about money, why Lyla was really seein' their daddy, before his eyes stayed closed. She stood a moment staring down at him before she stepped forward. "Thank you for not dyin," she said softly placing a kiss on his brow.

"I wouldn't leave you, baby," he told her, his eyes too heavy to open.

"That's enough," the guard told her.

With a sigh Lyla righted herself. "You're an idiot," she told her brother making him smile. "I'll visit after you're transferred." She didn't know if he heard her or if unconsciousness took him halfway into forming a smile, but her two minutes were up and she was led back to the entrance of the building where she collected her purse and stepped into the bright morning.  
She saw him standing with a hip against his SUV, hips she very much remembered from the night before. If he were anyone else he'd find a way to bring up the fact that he knew her last name, that he knew how dirty her family was and she probably was too. But he didn't. He really wasn't like anyone she'd met.

"Gotta say, I didn't believe you'd be gone when I woke," Tim said not taking his eyes off her. There were several things about her his drunken mind had forgotten – her bein' his height for starters, there was barely half an inch difference between them and if it weren't for her lovely legs he might've found a problem with that. Seeing her in the harsh sunlight she was prettier than he remembered; pretty cause it was softer than beautiful and there was something soft in her face, as though he knew without ever hearing it she had the sweetest laugh.

She stared heavily at his face, he was more guarded than the previous night – whether it was because he now knew who he was dealing with or she could see him better in the daylight than in the bar, she didn't know. Either way she couldn't read him nearly as easily as she had before, something she almost found alluring. "I even told you twice."

His brow twitched in wondering, the first movement of either of their faces – it wasn't lost on him that the first reaction provoked was his. "Does it mean something when you say it twice?" He was almost disarmed by her small smile – the corners of her mouth naturally turned down giving her the appearance of frowning, and in very spare moments the appearance of sadness. Any smile from her, no matter how small, was enough to make any man's heart warm with affection. But he was watching her too close, expecting the look in her eye - or rather that there wasn't anything in her eyes. He should've been suspicious of their emptiness, at her ability to erase the emotion from her face. But he found it inexplicably tempting, the idea of not knowin' a damn thing to expect.

"I say a lotta things. You shouldn't pay attention to what I say 'less it's more than once." There was a look in his eye that lasted for only a few seconds, curiosity or understanding – she hadn't been around him long enough to know which one. But he now knew most of what she said was a lie, and she was mighty interested to see what he'd do with that information.

She walked around him to her car, and he stood waiting for the moment she intentionally brushed against him. She was a tease, she'd run her fingers against his, let their arms touch; skin against skin, trading warmth. It's what he anticipated, steeled himself against cause he was gettin' very near the point of wanting to spend the night with her again. But that touch never came, she let her arm fall behind her as she passed specifically so there'd be no contact – she only came close enough to stir the air around him. He followed her movements, turning as she walked past cause he didn't trust her enough to let her behind him. With narrowed eyes he watched her climb in her truck, realizing what she'd done too late for him to subdue the fire that spread in his chest. He'd smelled Raylan on her hair.

You'd of thought you didn't know where the prison was, is what Lyla wanted to say when she got of her car. She guess there'd been no reason hidin' the fact he was following her since she already knew he was, but it wasn't like she'd be allowed to see her daddy without him; yet he'd ridden her ass the whole way there.

"Are you gonna be alright watchin' another guy touch me?" she asked as they walked toward the building.

It might've been considered teasing if she'd actually looked at him, he could see the slight upturn to the corner of her mouth but she gave him nothing more. "I will try to restrain myself," he said, his tone as soft as a rock.

She walked into the prison smiling at the dryness to his humor. "If it's Martinez you'll wanna strangle him."

He gave a short hum of laughter though he said nothing, he held the door for her and followed after her completely unsurprised she'd been there enough times to know the guards by name. But she was right. Martinez was there, who was out of his chair and around the desk as soon as he saw Lyla walk through the door. This was a person Tim could easily read, and his dark eyes and leering smile spoke volumes of the inappropriate things he wanted from her. Tim almost forced himself not to put himself in front of Lyla, to say he'd search her cause he didn't want the other man's hands anywhere near her body – which is exactly what Lyla had known Tim would wanna do. This was all a game to her.

"Ms. Lyla Crowder."

"Martinez," she greeted, her voice as empty as her face. It wasn't just that he looked like a pig, he was actually fairly thin, it was the smirk on his face every time he got to search her that had her wanting to slam his face into the wall until it caved in.

"Arms out, spread your legs."

Tim's back was to them as he filled out the visitation form. He didn't berate himself for any tenderness he felt toward her, in fact he did the opposite – he pushed all thoughts of her, in relation to him, out of his mind completely. And it may have worked if he hadn't turned to see what she'd been talking about; and there was nothing more Tim wanted to do than grab the man by the throat. The guard's hands were around her breasts squeezing roughly before he ran them through her hair. Tim's teeth ground as his jaw clenched, his hands white knuckled fists. And she couldn't have looked more bored if she was watching bowling on t.v. Because she'd expected it the moment she walked through the door, and that only made it worse.

Lyla let Martinez finish, her head falling back as he pulled her hair – how she loathed that man. But one look at Tim's face and she had to bite back a grin at seeing the darkness in his lovely blue eyes. He was so, neutral, that it was almost arousing to see any emotion on his face; especially the one he wore then, he looked ready to kill a man and shit if she didn't wanna jump him.

Martinez moved from behind Lyla and looked to her escort. "Gotta search you too Marshal, it's mandatory."

Tim stood staring heavily at the guard, his eyes stony and his mouth pulled tight. "You can touch my breasts too if you'd like."

Lyla watched Martinez quickly run his hands along Tim's body before stepping back, watched Tim's eyes follow the other man as though he wanted a fight. They walked silently to the room set up for her to see her father, which was only allowed because of the circumstances – apparently a son's death was worthy of leniency.

Tim followed her inside the encased visitation room; normally a place to meet with ones lawyer, or law enforcement looking for information. It was dull and grey and somehow, no matter her surname, she didn't look like she belonged. Her spine straightened when she caught sight of her father, her steps stuttered before her shoulders squared and she sat beside the large broad-shouldered man; if he'd wrapped his arms around her she might've disappeared. But from the way Bo sat without looking her way and from the way she now sat with her shoulders almost drawn in, it didn't appear the man normally put his arms around his daughter.

"D'you hear about Bowman?" she asked quietly. It was off putting to see this previously self assured woman now meek – and without knowing anything more than he saw then, Tim hated her father.

Bo was quiet several seconds, contemplating his next words. "Of all my kids to be killed it couldn't a been you."

Tim had been wrong before, he'd wanted to deck Martinez – but Bo Crowder, with all his cruelty, that was the man he wanted to strangle the life out of. His chest was burning, his hands clenching and unclenching, his heart pounding in his ears – this was rage. And if he'd been in the mind to think of it, part of it came from what he'd wanted to do to his own father.

"I should'a locked you in that shed, let you die. You've been a burden since the day you were born."

Lyla quickly stood leaving the room, hearing her father yelling obscenities at her as she left – and beneath his booming voice she heard Tim yell it was enough. She forced all emotion from her face as Tim entered the hall and stopped beside her, his eyes hot on her face as he searched for any sign she wasn't alright. It was almost sweet.

They were completely silent as they walked back to the entrance, as Martinez quickly searched her without lingering over any part of her body, and then as they left the prison. Tim noticed, quite suddenly, that her shoulders had only been drawn in when they were in the room with her father – not before leading up to see him, and not after with his words echoing in her mind. It'd been almost unnatural to see her timid and small, and it'd be even more noticeable to people who'd known her longer. If she wanted to tell her father he needed to choose his words carefully, without alerting the Marshal behind her, she'd need to do without words. Walking with her back to their cars, that was when it dawned on him he'd been played. "You don't have a shed, do you?"

She wondered if he'd figure it out, and she felt something very close to impressed that he had. "You gonna tell me why I needed an escort," she posed instead of answering.

His patience gone he stepped in front of her forcing her to stop, and he was once more faced with her emotionless eyes. "You know damn well."

She feigned hurt at the hardness of his tone. "And there goes the chance of next time," she said seeing from his unhappy smile he was bordering pissed. "Shame," she shrugged, "I was really starting to think I'd like you."

"Forgive me for not believin' a damn thing you say." He was close to pissed, though something froze in him at the sight of her smile. It was small, just the corners of her mouth curled slightly; both of them too. More than that it almost reached her eyes. Before it'd only been the movement of her mouth, nothing about her eyes had changed – but then, standing in front of her, he could see with a genuine smile she squinted.

"Well you're cute, you have all your teeth, a decent job, and you're funny as hell." She didn't say one way or another if all that meant she liked him, but he had a feeling the fact she'd said it without humor meant it was honest. She raised a shoulder without care to what she'd told him. "So yeah, I was startin' to think I'd like you."

He should walk away, leave this temptress behind him and not look back. But something changed when she said that again, he remembered she'd warned him not to pay attention to what she said if she only said it once - and she'd just admitted for the second time she was considerin' liking him. He didn't all at once melt at her feet but he was thinkin' several not unkind things, such as maybe he needed to see her when her family wasn't on her mind.

The look in his eye was all she needed, she'd gotten him back at her heels and she honestly didn't know why she wanted that. "It's a shame you didn't hear anything," she said moving to step around him, leaving her musings for later, "you could'a followed me home," in one quick motion she was behind him flush against his back, and with her mouth against his ear she whispered, "and gotten me off in my own bed."

He watched her walk to her car, his eyes following the sway of her hips; his chest aflame still feeling her teeth nipping his ear before she left. She had the habit of raising his hackles with suspicion and making him hard.

And she drove off with a cigarette between her smiling lips cause she knew he was wishin' he could follow her home too. But then he'd see she didn't have a shed. He was right, her daddy knew the moment he looked at her out of the corner of his eye they were bein' listened to – so he told her where the money was without actually saying cause they both knew the Marshals were still tryin' to find his money. She'd played Tim a fool.

…

_The next morning_

Ava Crowder had just been about to think of what she wanted for breakfast when she heard a knock at her door. Other than Raylan very few people had called on her after she shot Bowman. Well, other than Boyd, who was now in custody along with his ill-intentioned friends. With no other reason to fear she went to the door, wondering if it was Raylan comin' to check on her.

"Hey Ava."

Ava's blood ran cold at the sight of who it was, which was obvious considering her dark curly hair was her defining feature. Ava might've still shared a last name with the Crowder's but none of them wished her well. Both Bo and Boyd wanted her dead, and here Lyla Crowder was at her door.


	4. Chapter 4

Lyla stood on Ava's porch staring at her wide uncertain eyes and sighed irritably. "I brought coffee," she said holding up the holder with two drinks in it. It was a peace offering, and it was clear from Lyla's hard face she didn't appreciate having to use one.

It didn't set Ava fully at ease but she opened the screen door. "Well come on in," she told the younger woman, "I was just about to make breakfast."

Lyla held up her other hand; "I brought bagels too," she said knowing eight in the morning was considered early to most people. She stepped into Bowman's house, which she guessed was now Ava's, and headed for the kitchen. "Before you say anythin' I know this is tacky, but I don't got anyone else."

Ava was reminded how many times Lyla had been over as she watched her put the bagels in the toaster and go to the fridge - reminded how many times Ava herself had invited her just to have a girl to talk to. "What is it?" Ava asked taking a sip of her coffee, which was exactly how she liked it, knowin' Lyla had opened the store and taken the coffee and bagels.

She grabbed the cream cheese and a knife and set 'em on the table before getting plates. "I was wonderin' if you'd greatly mind helpin' me with Bowman's funeral?" She didn't wait to be refused, which is exactly what Ava planned to do, instead Lyla kept going. "It's just I never realized how many decisions needed to be made. I mean, why does Bowman care what kinda wood his coffin's made of he's dead? I also wondered if you had any clothes of his nice enough for him to be buried in." She finally turned to Ava, still expecting her to say no – lord knew he'd been god-awful to her before she killed him.

But Ava surprised Lyla, and herself. "Well since you brought breakfast," she said, seeing the moment Lyla's face softened as she smiled.

The two sat at the table discussing the funeral for all of fifteen minutes before their conversation drifted to anything other than Bowman – who neither had been incredibly fond of. It wasn't long into talking that any remnants of lurking worry left Ava's shoulders as she sat comfortably in her kitchen with Lyla as the two gossiped. They talked newly engaged couples, who'd actually make it down the isle and for how long, cheatin' spouses, sex which was mostly Ava askin' Lyla who eventually caved and told her about Tim without usin' his name, though Raylan was brought into the conversation on Ava's part. The two women sat entirely at ease smilin' and laughin' and it'd been many a month since either woman had sat and relaxed with a friend that it almost seemed a dream.

They would'a gone on all morning if the phone hadn't rung interrupting them. Lyla sat at the table hearing only Ava's side of the conversation, which was a shame cause there were several things Lyla wished she'd've heard herself and several more things she wanted to say in return. But what she got was it was Raylan, who brightened Ava's face to the point of gorgeous at the sound of his voice. And from Ava's response, which was "don't be silly, we were just talkin," Lyla knew Raylan's first thought was that she'd hurt Ava.

Lyla sat listening as Ava told Raylan helping was no trouble, that she'd shot Lyla's brother and Raylan had shot the other one – knowing Raylan was probably sitting at his desk with his tongue irritably stuck in his cheek.

"I'm not gonna make her, but I'll ask." Ava held the phone against her chest and looked to Lyla. "He wants to talk to you."

With a roll of her eyes Lyla stood and took the phone. "You are aware I've known her longer than you, right?" she demanded immediately. And before he could formulate a response, which was that Ava had good reason to shoot Bowman and therefore Lyla had no right to ask for her help, she spoke again. "If you're plannin' to tell me not to talk funeral arrangements with her then be aware you're volunteering yourself."

There were several things Raylan thought of saying, such as Bowman was an abusive dick and deserved what came to him or that Ava didn't wanna be apart of it nor would anyone attending the funeral. But what Raylan said, after a heavy sigh, was; "why don't you come up here, we'll get lunch, and I'll help you go over it all."

Her irritation stilled at his response. "I was just in Lexington yesterday."

"So come back," he said with a flippant shrug. Ava had called Lyla sweet; there were many things Raylan would call the woman Lyla now was and not a single one of them was sweet. Especially not after hearing from Tim how the talk with her daddy went, and Raylan knew there was no shed at the Crowder holler and she happened to be her daddy's favorite. All of which Tim had taken with a humoredly annoyed nod without saying a word. Art hadn't taken it as well and if Raylan didn't know better he'd have thought Art was disappointed to know she lied. Either way, Raylan was told to stay on her good side in the hopes that when her daddy gets out and restarts their business Lyla could be used as an informant. So Raylan was playing nice. "I'll even buy ya lunch."

Lyla stood holding the phone to her ear with her eyes raised to the ceiling shaking her head. He wanted something, she knew that much; nothing was free. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll come down there and remove you from her house," he answered humorlessly. Even after Ava's declaration that they'd only been talkin' and Lyla had even offered her a job at the convenience store, he still didn't trust her there.

And Lyla knew that, which is why her tongue pressed against the back of her teeth. "Fine," she grumbled handin' Ava the phone before gathering her things. "Thanks for lettin' me in, know you didn't have to."

"You're welcome back anytime," Ava assured her. "I always forget how much I like you til you come round," she said making Lyla grin, both knowing Crowders weren't likeable people. "Oh Raylan, I used to babysit her. She's about the only friend I got lookin' out for me."

Ava waved goodbye, a wave Lyla returned before she let the screen door slam behind her. Her irritation, and hurt feelings, were evident in her driving – she'd no time for other people as she drove, cutting them off riding their asses. She pulled into the parking lot of the Marshal's office twenty minutes before she should've arrived, half an hour before noon.

"I thought I was buyin' you lunch," Raylan said when he looked up at who'd stopped in front of his desk to see Layla wearing a visitor's badge and attitude cocked in her hip. She didn't have much in the way of breasts but those hips were lethal.

She couldn't be bothered to give him a full shrug. "I'll grab somethin' on the way back," she said seeing the disappointment in his eyes as he sat back. "I gotta check on the guy I left to run the store and finish workin' on Bowman's funeral. Which," she pulled the notepad out of her purse, "shouldn't take more than ten or fifteen minutes."

"Alright," he nodded before grabbing a chair for her. "What've you got so far?" he asked sitting back in his chair, watching as she crossed her long legs. Her shorts might've been longer than the ones from yesterday but they were tight enough to be another layer of skin and still too short to be worn in public.

"After arguin' with the funeral director for two hours I came up with a total of four grand," she said hearing him whistle at the steep price. "And that's just for the coffin, funeral home, and hearse."

He took her notebook to see everything she'd written, her handwriting neat and surprisingly organized. "I forgot how expensive this all was," he mused seeing everything had a price and it was more than it had any right to be.

Her agreement was a derisive snort, an elbow on the armrest resting her cheek on her hand. "That's why I've been lookin' for ways to cut back, at the risk of bein' even more a hick." She watched him smile seeing something not quite right about it and followed his gaze to Mr. Mullen's office to see the balding man giving Raylan some kind of a look – realizing exactly why Raylan was being so nice to her. Inviting her up to Lexington, offering her lunch. The Marshal's were looking for an in to the Crowder business, the Crowder daughter would be perfect if she'd actually give information; now Raylan was there with a connection. "Ava and I didn't talk much about Bowman, it was mostly gossip. Which is why I went, just to talk. I have everything bout his funeral figured out."

Raylan's brows rose at hearing that, realizing she'd probably had it all down before she visited her father – which not only meant she knew about the drug money but that she'd had a hand in it as well. "So what're you gonna do?" he asked feigning interest.

"I'm knocking off a grand by building his coffin, using the extra wood to make his gravestone, and usin' my truck as the hearse. If it weren't the funeral home I'd have it under a thousand. I'm awesome," she said raising her brows at him.

"And a hick," he added with a grin.

She laughed lightly knowing it was true. But she was gonna bury him in their family plot which saved at least four hundred on the hearse and another six hundred on the gravestone. But his comment and grin had been genuine without effort, which only confirmed what Lyla had observed – Raylan was not only a judgmental asshole, he was also a shitty actor by her standards. "You know there was a time she liked my brother, if you can believe that; he was always a bit of a dick," she added with a breath of a laugh. "I'd at least like to ask if she wanted to come."

Any pleasantness, as contrived as some of it might've been, left his face as he leaned forward. "Lyla she shot your brother, justified as it my have been. Attending his funeral,"

"How many people you think are gonna be there?" she asked cutting him off. "You shot Boyd who's now on his way to prison, my daddy's already there, most of Bowman's friends are either incarcerated or dead and the rest couldn't give two shits. She'd be the only one there."

Whether it was because he'd taken a shining to Ava or because he was startin' to feel bad about Lyla's circumstance – which included his shootin' Boyd – his stubbornness reared its head. "I'm sayin' no."

She stared at him for several moments, her brows drawn together and her eyes hard as steel, almost seeming to be waitin' for him to change his mind. And then she laughed not even remotely amused before standing, snatching her notepad out of his hand and stepping away from his desk. "Not that you have any say," she said headin' for the door.

"Now hold on minute," Raylan said following her, not appreciating the attitude. "Why does it sound like you're blamin' me for all this?"

She turned from the door, who Tim had somehow magically appeared behind and stared confusedly at her, and faced Raylan. "What I'm sayin," she drawled slowly, "is this would'a been easier if you hadn't decided to shoot Boyd."

"Why do you keep saying 'you shot Boyd,' as though I was in the wrong. He pulled first," he corrected, his own frustration with her showing through as he disregarded his orders to play nice. But she scoffed and threw the door open, brushing her shoulder against Tim's chest as she stalked to the elevator and stabbed the down button hard enough her finger could've broken. And Raylan followed right after, just about pushing a very interested Tim out of the way to get to her. "Well if that's not enough reason for you how about he was gonna shoot Ava."

She turned on him so violently he stepped back and placed a hand over his holster, her blue eyes burning. "He wasn't gonna shoot her, Raylan, he was gonna shoot you."

"And in your mind that makes it better?" he demanded, his tone proof he thought it was a bullshit reason.

With her jaw clenched she answered, "It does knowin' you're an asshole."

It was Raylan's turn to laugh without amusement, seein' so much of Boyd in her face then he had no care for her. "What reason have I given you to call me an asshole, other than a shooting that's been declared justified?"

Tim stood in the place he'd stopped when he first caught sight of her, only now he'd turned to follow her and Raylan. There was something about anger that made her easier to read, because she wasn't mad about Raylan shootin' Boyd that much he was gathering. And whatever she was about to say had murder in her eyes, and hell if he didn't think she looked beautiful.

She stared at Raylan for a moment before shaking her head. "And exactly what reason did I give you to assume I'd hurt Ava?" she asked watching his anger wilt as realization surfaced. "Before you try comin' up with some kinda response lemme remind you whose last name you share." She watched his lips purse, a sure sign he was unhappy with his thoughts, and his hand drop from his hip as he nodded. At the sound of the doors opening behind her she rolled her eyes and stepped onto the elevator. "You can tell Mr. Mullen the reason I won't be an informant is cause a you."

"How the hell," Raylan muttered to himself, feeling Tim move around him and step onto the elevator after her. Raylan didn't know how she could've figured out that's why he'd wanted her to come up there, especially not when he'd clearly ruined whatever 'connection' Art thought the two had.

Something Art was not happy about. "What part of be nice to her did you not seem to understand?" he asked when Raylan stepped into his office. "Did Douglas Cooper hit you over the head before he left you at the gas station?"

"I was an asshole," Raylan said quietly as he stood with his hands on his hips.

That took the wind right outta Art's sails. He certainly didn't disagree, but to hear Raylan admit it was quite the surprise. "Come again?" he asked, wondering what she'd said to evoke such a reaction.

Raylan looked up having been lost in deep thought ever since Lyla had stepped on the elevator. "She wasn't mad about Boyd, least not completely, she was mad cause I thought the worst of her." He'd hurt her feelings. She'd never, under any circumstances, admit that – cause it'd mean admitting she actually had feelings – but that's what he'd done. "Also it wouldn't've worked. She knows you wanted to use her as an informant, and that our history was the angle. She might've known before she came up here, but she got the proof while we were talkin'."

"How the hell'd she figure that out?"

Running a hand over his chin he shrugged. "Tim made a comment this mornin' about her, said she was acutely aware of the people she interacted with; their movements, body language, what each feature of their face is doin'. Said if she paid more attention to her surroundings she'd make a hell of a sniper."

Art's brows rose upon hearing that, knowing it was about as high a complement Tim could give. And she was not the girl to be giving it to. "What else did he say?" He wondered if Tim might be the only one adept enough to read her; if she hadn't already read him and put on a different face.

"I'm not quite sure I followed his reasoning," Raylan said first, though he certainly didn't doubt Tim's judgment, "but he thinks her lack of attention to what's around her means someone's usually there to do it for her. And he didn't say but I'm fairly sure that means she's played some kind of hand in her daddy's affairs."

Art sat behind his desk waving a hand dismissively. "I figured that much myself, thank you," he informed the younger man. "What do you think about him likin' her?" he asked, having seen from inside his office just how fiercely Tim watched her and then as he almost immediately followed her onto the elevator.

"Oh I'd say he's taken with her," Raylan said with a smile. "And if I'm right, which I'm not entirely certain with her, I think she might be on her way to taken with him."

"What makes you think that?"

"Just some of the things he said she'd told him, seems like she's toeing the line purposefully. Might not be a bad thing, her havin' a reason to leave Harlan."

"Now Raylan," Art said not liking the way his thoughts were going. "I know you have some strange brotherly bond with her, but I guarantee you this ain't the kid you left."

"You didn't know her then."

"No, and that seems to be cloudin' your judgment."

Raylan shook his head. "She was good," he declared. "She saved the bugs in her house. She fed strays. She," he laughed lightly, "she hated when people said dandelions were weeds cause they were just tryin' to be beautiful. She was good Art." There'd been a look on her face before she stepped on the elevator, barely visible behind the anger; and this time it wasn't a game. Quite possibly the only person in her life who thought there might be some good left in her had assumed the worst. For the first time since Raylan had found her outside his door yesterday morning, he'd seen a glimpse of who she was.

A glimpse Tim had seen when he stepped in after her; the sole reason he had. Her eyes unhappily gazed at the wall across from her, her mouth just slightly pursed in a frown. But she'd turned to him and he watched that face melt into one of unfeeling, making him smile cause for a second he'd seen there was a person behind the façade. And seeing that, as briefly as he had, made him not feel like such an idiot about wanting to know her.

* * *

_I realized I never said the episode I started in, and that not everyone might know. I'm in episode 2, she meets Tim the night before the episode starts. She meets Raylan before he goes to see Boyd and then to transfer Dewey - and this chapter takes place the next day, after Raylan ran into the escaped prisoners and the old guy took his car and his hat. Anyways, she meets with Raylan in this chapter after him and Tim talked to the guy's ex-wife.  
Now, I don't know how well you guys know the individual episodes so I have a question for you all. For now I'm gonna put, ex. 1x02, to say what episode I'm in. But, if anyone's interested I can leave a note at the end of each chapter saying when it took place during the episode; and you would see how I'm weaving her into the show. But that's entirely up to you guys and whether or not knowing where I am in the show is of any interest, or if you don't care and want me to get on with the story. So let me know your preference. Thank you very much for reading._


	5. Chapter 5

Before her eyes moved to see his face she knew it was Tim who'd stepped on the elevator – Raylan was now preoccupied with wondering whether he'd been wrong about her. She hadn't planned her reactions, however she'd thought about how to get under Raylan's skin, and showin' that he'd hurt her – even if it was true – was the perfect way to not only make him feel guilty but to also plant the seed that she'd been a victim of her daddy's circumstance. Which was more or less what she wanted in him not lookin' for evidence to put her behind bars; and with a little time she might work him to the point of overlooking any incriminating evidence that surfaced. So while she'd lost her temper revealing a bit more than anticipated, she'd made it work in her favor.

Tim was a different story. If she didn't watch herself he'd catch her guard down one time and know too much. It'd taken her years to learn to keep emotions from her face – unless she was comfortable, normally with Boyd. He was the only person who actually knew her; her fears, her wants. She was his favorite book and he read her every time she was there, looking for the clouds behind her smile.  
She couldn't let herself get comfortable with Tim, he watched too closely for any sign of what she was actually thinkin'. She was rather fond of her freedom, last thing she needed was to incriminate herself and end up behind bars. But looking at him and seein' his boyishly handsome face, she convinced herself it was sex and nothing more.

"How much of that was real?" he asked brazenly. Openly staring at her unwilling to miss any movement of her face – everything about her was subtle, he was comin' to figure that out. The day before he'd have seen her small smirk and thought it was due to adequately playing her part, he'd miss the almost imperceptible shake of her head. But he saw it then beside her on the elevator; her mouth didn't smirk because of what she'd done, but from what _he_ had. She liked that he was quick to question her.

She turned her head toward him and raised a shoulder. "All of it," she told him honestly, something she didn't do often. "I might've exaggerated a little."

He stood turned fully to her realizing she not only contrived emotions to manipulate with, but she also used her own. If he'd realized that yesterday he might've walked away from her, but it was too late then – he was utterly fascinated. "I have a hard time believin' that."

Her brows rose at his deadpanned comment, feeling a smile trying to form on her mouth at his humor. "I know," she agreed just as blandly, "I never understood why everyone suspects I have bad intentions."

He gave a brief hum as he nodded. "You're a picture of innocence." He surprised a laugh out of her with that one, just a small chuckle before she brought a hand to her mouth smothering her smile with the tips of her fingers – it hit him, seeing her mouth against her skin, that he didn't remember kissing her that night which was a shame because her lips begged for it.

She didn't think he knew it but he was smiling – an actual smile, with teeth – and all she could think was god he was beautiful. "I should've gone with the other guy," she said stepping off the elevator when it reached the lobby knowing he was still behind her. She walked slow enough for him to reach her side. "I'd a never seen him again. There'd be no joking or connection to my family." She looked at him grinning: "or you tryin' to see 'neath my skin."

He held the door for her, his eyes falling to her hips as he stepped outside after her. "Where's the fun in knowin' what'll happen?" he asked turning her head in surprise at those words.

"Someone smart must'a told you that," she teased without an ounce of actual teasing in her voice or face.

Which only made him wanna laugh more as they walked to her car. "Yeah she might be brilliant." He opened the door to her rusty truck and made a sweeping gesture with his arm for her to step in. She nearly smiled as she climbed in, realizing the night at the bar he was either a teenager or a war-hardened adult and no in between. He closed the door after her continuing to stare at her – he could look at her all day and never get tired, nor would he know her. "Too bad she has awful taste in music."

Giving a short laugh she fastened her seatbelt and rested her elbow over the window she always kept down. "I do not." He'd said the same thing at the bar, music had been the topic of their first conversation, and he wore the same silly grin.

"You don't like Willie Nelson,"

"Mm, nope."

"Or Hank Williams Jr."

"Both of who whine."

He smiled having heard that argument two nights before. "Toby Keith, Dolly Parton Kenny Rogers. I could on."

She shook her head. "You're thinkin' Randy Travis, I love Kenny Rogers," she said seein' him nod like that excused her but not actually meaning it. "You said I was okay cause I liked Johnny Cash."

"Everyone likes Johnny Cash."

"Well, what about Patsy Cline or Loretta Lynn. I usually like George Strait, and there's Brooks and Dunn."

"So there is a southern girl in there," he said making her laugh. She didn't try to cover it this time; he hadn't realized it before but she had a warm laugh, when it was genuine.

She looked at him to see he was smilin' again, she didn't think he did that often. "Hidin' behind the rock and alternative," she said agreeing that her musical tastes didn't lean toward country; she didn't like him enough yet to admit sometimes she got tired of the music she was raised on.

He stepped away from her truck knowin' he'd spent too much with her already. Art would wanna know everything she said – what was Tim supposed to say, they were continuing their conversation from two nights ago cause he'd interrupted it by takin' her clothes off. "This time next is up to you."

"What?" she asked not expecting him to say that – she'd expected goodbye, or for him to just walk away.

He smirked at her surprise, at her clear unhappiness about it, glad to have gotten under _her_ skin. "With Raylan here I have a feelin' I'll be seein' more of you," he told her, not quite sure if that was a good thing. He certainly wanted to, but whether that was a good idea was an entirely different matter. Left to him he'd make sure their paths crossed, he wanted her to make up her mind if she wanted it too cause he could see she still wasn't sure. "And you probably have an idea of what I'll do, so you decide," he said with a shrug, knowing from the way her lips pressed together she was thinking of what to say.

She knew he wanted to see her again – everything she did ensured that, whether or not she'd directly meant to. And he'd figured that out so he was forcing her hand; she'd either cross their paths for the want of seeing him or she'd deliberately make sure they didn't cross unless it was his doing; which proved she was too stubborn to admit she liked him. With a heavy sigh she looked at him annoyed turning the key in the ignition, firing up her old truck. "Look up The Black Keys," she told him, watching him smile as he moved back so she could pull out. She lit a cigarette as she left the parking lot; it hadn't even been a five minute conversation and she wanted more.

…

The next couple of weeks passed with relative normality, considering Johnny was the only other Crowder not dead or incarcerated and the two had never been close. But he ended up helpin' her load the coffin in her truck, then to load Bowman into the coffin and back into the truck - which she tied down in the bed, drove back to her daddy's holler, and they unceremoniously dropped him into the hole she'd dug. Then she'd made Johnny dinner, kissed his cheek, and sent him on his way.

What she wouldn't've given for Devil, he was her closest friend and the only person besides Boyd who knew how to make her happy. The only good thing was that they'd all been put in Big Sandy, so on the weekend she'd getta see her daddy, Boyd, then Devil. Though when she got done talkin' to her daddy, time she spent convincin' him not to put a hit on Ava yet, and then listenin' to Boyd talk about Jesus and how she needed to stop her promiscuous ways and beg forgiveness, by the time it'd been Devil's turn there was no time left and he'd really been the only one she'd wanted to see.

"Ain't promiscuous when you go round havin' sex with everybody?" Devil asked the next day, using his phone time to call her and ask how her visit had gone.

Lyla stood behind the counter of the store cleaning her nails. "Apparently my brother thinks I'mma whore."

Devil snorted at the thought. "Don't know how many times I gotta tell him you ain't like that," he said knowin' it always made her smile; there were very few people who didn't assume she was whore. "You'll suck a dick if you want somethin, but your pussy's hallow ground." He smiled at her laughter, knowin' she probably didn't do much of that now they were all locked up. "And goddamn if a man just wants a kiss. When was the last time you let a man kiss you?"

She leaned her hip against the counter as she thought. "I don't know, night with you when we were drunk."

"Shit, is that two years for sex too?" he asked knowin' the answer. "How you go that long?"

She shrugged, answering without thought. "I can do myself better than any man." It was a moment of silence before she realized exactly what she'd said. "Get that thought outta your mind, Devil."

He chuckled knowin' either his time was gonna run out or someone would enter the store. "I'm gonna marry you woman," he told her fiercely.

It wasn't the first time he'd said it, but it still made her smile. "I told you, get the money to get us outta Harlan and never look back and I'm all yours."

"I'm workin' on it," he grumbled, both knowing he wasn't, looking behind him at the line of men waiting to use the phone; he'd spend every penny he had just to talk to her, and he wouldn't hang up less she had to. "So why's the Marshal different?" he asked knowin' there was a reason.

She looked up at the sound of the bell on the door to see Ava comin' in. "I thought he was beautiful," From the way Ava stopped on the opposite side of the counter Lylashe wasn't staying. "I have to go, I think Ava's breakin' up with me."

Ava gave her a guilty smile, waiting as she hung up. "You remember I was gonna go down to the beauty salon, ask Tammy Lee if there was a chair open?"

"You are breakin' up with me," Lyla said having hoped she was wrong.

Ava nodded, her smile even guiltier. "I can cook for you few nights every week, say thanks for lettin' me work here. I know you paid me extra."

Lyla grinned, resting herself on her elbows. "Sure you're not too busy cookin' for Raylan?" she asked, and Ava smiled coyly. "He's quite taken with you."

Ava couldn't stop her mouth from smiling. "Well when I'm not cookin' for him."

"Call me beforehand and I'll make dessert," Lyla compromised. "Since you worked a few days in this payroll I'll just pay you for two weeks."

Ava gave a surprised laugh. "Good heavens Lyla, you might've paid me enough to get outta Kentucky," she said wondering what the purpose was behind her kindness. Lyla said she'd get paid every two weeks long as she worked there, Ava had started toward the end of one payroll and Lyla had paid her the full two weeks, and here Lyla was givin' her more.

Getting Ava out was the goal, or at least providing her enough to escape if it was needed – even if it was only a thousand, Lyla would be in for a hell of a beating if her daddy knew she'd funneled his money into Ava's paycheck. "Well you showed up on time and stayed your shift," she said shrugging aside Ava's thanks. "Go on and leave me, I never liked you none anyway." Lyla saw Ava's lovely smile and knew what she wanted before she made it around the counter. "No more than three seconds," she said making Ava's smile grow before she threw her arms around her. Lyla was not a hugger, by any means, and so she was quick to say, "it's been three seconds."

Ava laughed. "You hush and let me hug you," she mumbled against Lyla's cheek. Ava could count on one hand how many times Lyla had let her do this, even as a child she'd never liked someone's arms encasing her – not unless it was Boyd or her daddy. She could dance with someone, but somehow a hug was different and if she didn't want it her skin crawled. "Okay," Ava said releasing her, "wish me luck."

Lyla thought of what she should say, of what her daddy wanted her to say cause he'd been livid when she asked him not to kill Ava. "Tammy's the lucky one," she said instead.

Ava stared at her pretty face wondering how anyone could think she wasn't just the sweetest thing. "I just love you Lyla Crowder," she said before kissing her cheek. "I'm gonna leave fore I change my mind."

Lyla stood shaking her head in bafflement as Ava left, returning her wave before she walked out the door. With a sigh Lyla leaned on the counter, wishing she'd asked Devil to hold on instead of hanging up, trying to avoid goin' to the back to restock. But with a groan she ended up doin' it anyway.

…

_1x07 – a few days later_

It was still early when Raylan pulled up to Lyla's store. He'd expected a convenience store, a CVS, not Mack's Super Market. "You're sure she'll be in?" he asked turning to Ava in the passenger's seat.

Ava nodded, "she likes to open at seven for folks who wanna stop in for coffee and breakfast. It's not seven anymore Raylan, she's in."

He stepped out of the car fixing his hat and entered the store, looking first to the cash register in the back. "Hello?" he called, moving through the isles lookin' for a certain cloud of dark hair. It looked like a convenience store, where he expected to see only cokes in the refrigerated cases he also saw milk and beer and even a few freezers, and then canned goods and bagged food were on the shelves, a magazine and book section, cigarettes and lottery tickets behind the registrar. He realized, looking around, that he'd been here before – he even remembered Mack, though that was more than twenty years ago.  
He found her on her knees fixing something on a shelf, humming along to whatever music she had playing. "I'm sorry," he said getting the apology out of the way first hand.

"What?" she asked looking up at him.

He looked around and sighed. "I said I was sorry," he grumbled.

She pulled herself off her feet, feelin' Raylan's hand on her arm helping her up. "I heard you the first time," she said with a grin, watching him smile half amused.

"You don't seem angry," he commented thinking she might actually look pleasant.

"Thought about it," she said with a shrug. "I wouldn't'a trusted me neither."

He couldn't help but chuckle, glad to know she'd come around – wondering if she'd figured it out, or when walkin' her to her car Tim gave her a new perspective. "A hit was put on Ava last night, she's fine," he quickly added before Lyla could interrupt. "What I wanted to know is if you think it came from your daddy." He stood watching her brows draw together and her arms cross, waiting for her to remind him Bo was in prison and he could show himself outta her store. But she surprised him, as she continuously seemed to do.

"I managed to get his word to leave it be for the time, I don't believe it was him but I won't say for certain." That wasn't actually true, she was pretty certain it hadn't cause of his word. "Is she alive cause you were with her?"

If Ava hadn't spent many nights saying the nicest things about her Raylan might not have answered. "I might've been." And it was a good thing he had, cause that's all Lyla needed to question whether the hit was meant for Ava. And she might'a told him if he hadn't continued. "I should probably give you a heads up, Sheriff Mosley's lookin' for the shooter he'll probably stop by ask you a few questions."

She'd frozen at the mention of Mosley, a man she very much didn't want anywhere near her. Unpleasant things were starting to come together in her mind; her daddy had connections in Miami, drugs were still comin' in and she was pretty damn sure it was through the sheriff, and Raylan had pissed people off in Florida. "You tell him you were comin' to see me?"

Raylan looked down at her unsure why it mattered. "I might've mentioned it," he said knowing he did, he said he'd get Ava out of Harlan but first he'd see if Lyla knew anything.

Lyla nodded wishing she could be angry Raylan had done that but he honestly didn't know any better – other than her daddy and Boyd no one did. "You should ask Boyd about the hit," she said suddenly. "Boyd'll know if it came from daddy." She figured Boyd would say the same thing about daddy but he just might figure out the hit was meant for Raylan, and he might even know it'd come from Sheriff Hunter Mosley. She could only hope that were true cause she didn't have time to explain to Raylan, who probably wouldn't listen anyway. "Tell him details too," she said seein' suspicion grow in his eyes. "In case he recognizes anything about the shooter to say he was someone daddy knew."

"As opposed to you?" Raylan asked, having seen for a fraction of a second she was spooked.

She shook her head and widened her eyes. "I don't know anything about my daddy's business."

He smiled knowing that was far from the truth, and realizing she wouldn't tell him anything without admitting she'd been lying. "Goodbye Lyla," he said kissing her cheek and leaving the store.

She watched him go, looking after his car as he drove away before she quickly went to the back to get her purse. She flipped the sign to closed, locked up, and high tailed it back home. Leaving her truck going she ran inside to quickly grab a bag – moving the giant box at the top of her closet to reveal the small door to an attic. At four she didn't know what it was, not knowing the word for attic she'd asked her daddy if it was a shed; not even Boyd knew about it, her daddy said it was their little secret.

She grabbed the few thousand dollars he'd stashed, hiding it in clothes – knowing Hunter would trash the place if he came to find her gone. She'd just closed the bag, ready to run back to her truck and get the hell out, when she heard the sound of tires on gravel. There was no running around the back and sneaking away, her truck was out there with him. And after the muffled sound of a car door closing, her engine cut off.


	6. Chapter 6

Hunter Mosley left her keys in the truck not needing them, he'd take her by surprise get her in his car and that'd be that. They'd already danced this particular dance, only now it was at Raylan's expense 'stead of her daddy. Ava was better bait, Raylan had been in her bed, but Lyla had always been the way to hurt the Crowders – two birds, one stone. He'd just stepped around the truck when a bullet struck the gravel at his feet and the boom of a rifle reached his ears, he just about jumped outta his skin.

"That's close enough," Lyla said coldly standing at the door she'd left open.

She'd been quiet, probably loaded and pumped her shotgun in the back before coming up to surprise him. He had no time to draw his weapon first, which is exactly what she'd wanted. "Now Lyla you be a good girl and put down that shotgun, don't give me reason to arrest you. I just wanna talk."

She stepped onto the porch still aimin' at him, her face harder than stone. "I got this when I was ten. Bowman said I wanted to be like on TV, you know how they all have pump-action shotguns. And you can tell just by the sound, see," she quickly pumped another round into the chamber, _clack-CLACK_ his blood ran cold. "But my daddy picked it out cause it's gotta be taken apart to clean and I've always loved seein' the mechanics of things." She stood square on her porch lookin' like she killed people for a living; light blue eyes blazing, teeth bared, the means to kill a man in her dainty hands. "I didn't believe you wanted to talk then and I still ain't buyin' your shit."

"You're not gonna shoot me," he said itching to unholster his weapon and shoot her in the leg, just to have her hurtin. "Everyone worked too hard makin' you look innocent. I couldn't find a shred of evidence against you, you won't ruin that." He stepped forward, testing the water, and smiled at the tilting of her pretty head knowing he'd been right. "Jesus," he yelped nearly falling back when another bullet hit the gravel at his feet, only she'd shot closer and dirt had been thrown against his ankle.

Before he could gain his bearin she'd gotten another round ready to go, _clack-CLACK_ went her heart. "You wanna find out?" Her voice was low, words sliding between grit teeth, eyes blackening with rage. "It ain't five years ago, Hunter. How do you want this to go?"

"I'd like to leave without a bullet in me," he said reasonably. "And I'd like you in my car." He didn't say but they both knew he meant the trunk.

Her smile was nothing more than a rosy slash on her face. "Fraid I can't accept those conditions, see they're intertwined; I'm not gettin' in your car less you got a bullet in you."

He was left staring at her murderous face now knowing she'd shoot him, and she just might do it for fun. He had no options now, she wasn't twenty-one anymore and with such a black look on her face she might've been more terrifying than Bo. "Alright, how do you want it go?" His skin crawled at her grin, as though instead of lipstick it should've been blood on her mouth. Before he knew it her hands were no longer on the shotgun and she pulled a handgun from the waistband of her pants - and then the shotgun hit the porch.

Any man would laugh at her Taurus, it was only as big as her hand – but it fit well in a purse and it got the job done "How bout this," she said bending down to grab the bag at her feet, not even blinking as she watched him, "we part ways and I say nothin' to no one bout what happened today. Or then," she added knowing silence was all she had going for her. "I'll leave first, feel free to trash the house see if you can find anything to keep my daddy in prison. Then you go on your way, finish whatever you started without usin' me. Is that somethin' you can work with?" She watched him contemplate her words, his hands twitching by his belt as he stared at her. "Next time I take a shot I might take part a you with it. Think faster, Hunter."

He was thinking a mile a minute, all the different ways he could put her down without killing her – or maybe killing her cause he hated her then. But something in her face changed, if he hadn't been watching her he'd have missed it; it was dark and ugly and he raised his hands in the air. "Easy girl," he said slowly stepping away from her truck, watching her follow him, her aim never wavering.

When he'd gotten far enough away she walked to her truck and threw the bag in, holdin' her gun level with his chest as she climbed in and started it. She kept aim on him as she backed up til trees masked him from view and she quickly swerved onto the main road.

There was no daddy, no Boyd, no Devil – not even Dewey – for her to go to. And if she didn't have somewhere to go odds were Hunter would find her again and he wouldn't let her off a second time. She paid no mind to Raylan, he was fit to care for himself; not that it mattered, her phone was on the bed where she'd left it in her rush to grab the shotgun. She was on her own, and with little else to do she turned onto 119 to head up to Lexington.

…

Tim had just turned into his neighborhood, his shift having ended and he was ready to be home nursing a beer, when his phone rang. "Hello?"

"You haven't heard from Lyla, have you?"

From the lack of hello Tim knew Raylan had called out of worry, which in turn made _him_ worry. He hadn't seen her in a couple of weeks, only thought of her in a spare quiet moment by himself. "Can't say I have," he said pulling into his driveway and cutting the engine. "Did something happen?"

Raylan sighed having hoped Tim would've said yes; it'd only occurred to him then, at the end of the day, that there'd been something up with Lyla. "Hunter Mosley would've stopped by either her store or her house, and something I said spooked her."

It was almost unnatural hearing that Lyla, an emotionally controlled woman, was spooked by anything. "You tell him you were seein' her?"

"Yes," Raylan answered realizing why Lyla looked like she wanted to hit him earilier. "He probably did stop by then. He didn't say anything about havin' her so she's probably fine. Just not answering her phone."

Tim sat in his car looking in the rearview mirror. "Well, I'm starin' at her truck," he said not entirely happy – mainly because she wasn't in the truck, which meant she'd broken into his house.

Raylan laughed half in relief and the rest in amusement. "Smart girl," he mused picturing Tim's hard face. "See if you can't figure out how she knew Hunter'd be after her."

It was a question Tim was itchin' to have an answer to, and it couldn't've been good if it'd sent her runnin' to him. "I'll tell her you were worried," Tim told Raylan before hanging up.

He didn't know what to expect upon opening the door, which he'd had to unlock; her occupying his couch, sitting at the table with a drink and a cigarette. All he knew was he hadn't expected to be hit with the glorious smell of a home cooked meal.

Lyla poked her head out of the kitchen having been waitin' for him to get off, seein' him shrug out of his jacket. "Raylan alright?" she asked, not bothering to pretend like she hadn't known.

Tim's brows rose as he moved to lean against the doorway to watch her flutter around his kitchen. "So you knew it was a hit on Raylan?" he asked glancing at the stove. "Where's the mashed potatoes?" He saw the gravy, though it was white, his skillet with some kinda liquid in it, green beans ready to go in the microwave, but no potatoes.

"Well," she said turning to him, "I hate mashed potatoes so I made twice baked. And I don't like fried chicken less there's gravy. It didn't come from my daddy and Boyd's found Jesus, so the target was Raylan," she said with an unconcerned shrug thinkin' it'd been pretty easy to figure out.

Tim nodded, eyes followin' her every movement as she grabbed the cutting board the chicken strips were on. "I don't have a fryer," he told her. "D'you know the sheriff was in on it?"

"You have a cast iron," she said before laying down a few strips of chicken, filling the kitchen with the sound oil popping. "I take it Raylan's alright then," she said looking at him briefly before she turned back to the chicken.

No thanks to you, is what he wanted to say – there was something about her having not said a word all day that put him off. Whether it put him off from her, or he had a feeling there was something he wasn't seeing; something wasn't right with the whole thing. He remembered Raylan's words, _something I said spooked her_. "You probably figured he could handle himself."

She gave him a look for his indirectness, knowing he wanted to know why she hadn't called Raylan – maybe why she hadn't called Tim himself. "Part of my not dyin' today was not talkin."

"He didn't kill Ava," Tim said not accepting her excuse.

She rolled her eyes stirring the gravy, checked the chicken, and then checked inside the oven. "You wanna get to my daddy you go through me. That's why your boss wants me as an informant and why anyone who hates my daddy looks my way. Occasionally my situation gets precarious."

Tim knew Hunter hated the Crowders, and Lyla was the best way to hurt the family. "This wasn't about your father," he said staring hard at her face, seein' the right corner of her mouth curl just slightly.

"No," she looked at him heavily, "_this_ wasn't."

He stood from his previously relaxed stance, the meaning behind her words revealing she had in fact used his home to hide. "What happened the first time?"

"Will he be goin' to prison?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you that," he said leaving them at a stand still.

Her eyes narrowed as she sized him up, seeing the stubbornness in his eye knowin' he wanted some kind of answer. She knew she'd have to tell him something, she had invaded his home. "Dinner'll be ready in twenty," she said watching the muscles in his jaw bulge as he ground his teeth. "I'm not sayin' a word til I know he'll be put away. If you still won't tell me in that time I'll leave, but I'll at least finish makin' you dinner."

"Why?" he asked not knowing why she was making it in the first place; not that he'd complain, he was practically drooling. Though that might've been her shorts cause he could see the curving of her ass from how short they were.

She flipped the chicken, stirred the gravy again, and then turned to him. "To say thanks for lettin' me in your home."

He gave a short laugh. "I didn't let you in my house."

Her smile should've given her away. "I also broke the screen to your window order to get in," she said seeing the grin slip from his face. "I brought beer," she told him opening the fridge to her right.

He should've refused it, probably should've told her to get out, but it'd been a long boring day and he really wanted a drink. "You're buyin' me a new screen," he told her before going to change.

She grinned as she took the gravy off the stove having guessed the beer would appease him, which was why she'd saved it til her luck was tried. A few minutes passed and she felt more than heard him come up behind her.

"You got a permit for your little gun?" he asked, having glanced at her purse on the table, and the bag on the floor she'd brought.

"Think I'd've brought it if I didn't?" she asked flashing him a sly grin over her shoulder to find he'd set her purse on the bag clearing the table – he had no idea he was sittin' next to Bo's drug money, and hell if that wasn't thrilling enough to make her wet.

Tim took a chair with both the front door and the kitchen in his line of sight; the door in his peripheral and her ass in full view. By no means would he consider her a small woman, and it wasn't just her height. Nothing about her stirred the need to protect her, something many women relied on as charm; if anything Lyla demanded the need to be tied down. Her shoulders might've been thin but they were broad, she had a slender waist but then those hips jutted out – his gaze greedily followed every curve of her body as she moved between the stove and counter or as she bent to check in the oven. And then there were her legs, long and lean. There was no question about whether or not he'd let her stay, and he could do little more than drink his beer aware she'd known that soon as she decided to come.

She finished dinner, feeling his eyes crawling over her body - there was one thing about him she was familiar with; physical attraction. Her body and her face was usually enough to get her what she wanted out of a person. It wasn't having sex with Tim that made him different, it was him. He'd seen something that caught his interest and now it wasn't just about her body, he was interested in her. She wasn't used to dealin' with that.  
She asked if he wanted gravy, which he'd shrugged and said why not, before she set his plate on the table. "Am I makin' myself one?" she asked lettin' him 'decide' if she'd stay, men were always willing when they thought it was their idea.

He looked up at her taking a long drink, makin' her wait. "Would you leave without an answer?" He knew she wouldn't, which meant she had no plans of leaving.

"Would you let me leave without gettin' yours?"

His smile was dry at her knowing what he wanted, and that he wouldn't let her leave before he got it. "Then I guess you're makin' yourself a plate."

She did as told, grabbing a beer for herself and another for him. That should've told him something about how she'd grown up, that she knew when to grab another beer even though it'd been less than twenty minutes since the first and she still hadn't had one yet. But her face was distracting him because she was pensively waiting, forcing herself to play nice, til he gave her an answer.

"What's in the oven?" he asked seeing the timer on the microwave.

"Apple pie." Her mouth smiled around the bottle at the sight of his face, like a kid who'd been surprised with a gift. "I even got ice cream," she said watching his brows stretch higher.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had apple pie. And he realized, more he thought about it, her actions gave her away; the locked door, food, beer, all were clear signs she'd been scared. Now she wasn't cause she had her answer, the first thing she'd asked was about Raylan– without realizing it he'd told her everything. Now she was waitin' for him to catch on. "How long have you known we arrested Hunter?" he asked around a bite of chicken. If her smile hadn't been so pretty, so genuinely glad at his question, he might've had it in mind to be irritated – while she was playin' him she was feelin' him out too; seeing if he was worth her time. And that smile let him know he was doin' well.

It'd taken him longer than she'd thought, but he got there; most people would've been oblivious, and she had the habit of gettin' bored with most people. "If Raylan's fine Hunter ain't," she said simply.

They ate quietly for several minutes, Lyla not willing to dredge up history unless it was necessary – she might've wanted pity from Raylan but she was findin' she didn't want it from Tim – and Tim's thoughts were lost in his meal. Or rather, that she'd made it and he wouldn't mind if she came by again and cooked for him – dangerous thoughts cause it proved he was too relaxed with the idea of her. But she was sitting beside him eating, not nibbling or picking at her food afraid to admit her she was actually hungry; she didn't feel like a little doll who needed gentle handling. If he hit her there was no doubt in his mind she'd hit him back. There was something so comfortable knowing she could take his shit – and he had enough it drove people away. The problem, was her shit.

She'd been waiting for when he'd look expecting her to speak, and after minuets of quiet glances his gaze settled on her eyes and she sighed. "I should warn you, it'll ruin the mood." The story itself wouldn't, which was really no more than Hunter holding her against her will to get her daddy in handcuffs, it was Tim's reaction that'd do it.

He gave her a look as he finished his second beer, furrowed brows and narrowed eyes following her as she get him another, pausing to take the pie out of the oven thirty seconds before the timer went off. "There isn't a mood," he told her, which they both knew was a lie.

She smiled as she set the beer down and stood in front of him, choosing that seat specifically to see how tight his pants got. "I can get you hard under a minute and there ain't a damn thing you can do about it, you're already halfway there," she said, her voice between serious and teasing as she looked down at where he sat. "There's always a mood."

"If you want there to be," he added, knowing she made all the decisions, heavily implying she was promiscuous.

She smiled before swinging a leg around him to stand with him between her legs. His eyes didn't waver as she slowly slid her hips down his chest, his pupils dilated but his gaze stayed fixed on her face, until she settled on his lap then his hands wrapped around either hip pulling her closer. "Fore you start callin' me names, I hadn't planned on havin' sex with you that first night," she told him raising his brows with interest. "I was gonna get you drunk and appease you by suckin' your dick. Which, if I ever offer that know I've lost all interest in you."

"So what changed your mind?" he mumbled barely moving his lips, realizing from the way she'd posed her response she was tellin' him she didn't have sex often – and that did more to him than it should've.

Her smile grew at feeling him stiffen more, knowing he was now in the palm of her hand. "You didn't take me home immediately, I liked that."

That might've been the first genuinely honest thing she'd told him, granted she said it specifically for the reaction it gave him, but he'd been watchin' her close enough he knew she'd just given him a piece of herself. "I sold myself, is that what you're tellin' me."

Her laugh was nothing more than a short hum. "And I've been buyin' you since," she said feeling what that did to him more than she saw it. "I told you, there's always a mood," she teased moving her hips against his.

He sighed at the movement, he'd never stood a chance against her. Though he prided himself on surprisin' a laugh out of her when he suddenly stood still holding her against him. "I believe that was a minute and a half," he said feeling the grin in her cheek.

He didn't have the patience to make it to his bed, not that he'd planned on makin' it. All he wanted was a place to lay her down and he'd have spread her out on the floor if he hadn't seen the couch. She barely had a chance to settle back before he had her pants off, and before he could enjoy it she was pulling his shirt over his head. He didn't know it then, didn't know her well enough yet, but she'd've done anything he wanted.


	7. Chapter 7

_So this chapter happens in between episode 1x07 and 1x08 - episode 7 is when Sheriff Hunter Mosley tried to give Raylan to the Miami Cartel, and episode 8 is when the prisoner takes a guard hostage and Raylan talks him down.  
I'm not sure how the story's reading to you guys, I'm having fun writing her manipulating people - but I don't know if it's at all interesting to you guys, or if the story is moving just too slow. So let me know if you want me to pick up the pace a little, or if everything's fine and you're all enjoying it. _

* * *

Tim woke to an empty house, again. The fact that she was gone didn't surprise him, he was pretty sure either the door or her truck was what woke him, it was that she'd cleaned before she left. After the sex, which he'd thoroughly enjoyed and made sure she had too, he'd grabbed a bottle of bourbon and the pie and they sat on the couch naked as the day they were born talking as they ate and drank. She finished the pie, he finished the Jim Beam, and when he was well and drunk he'd climbed back on top of her and didn't remember anything after – not if she'd wanted it, if he'd been too rough, if she'd come, if he passed out before he'd come. All he knew was he woke up, still naked, on his couch hearing the dishwasher and seein' a glass of water and ibuprofen on the coffee table.

Last night had been, somethin', and he wasn't at all sure if that were a good thing. He knew more about her now, he wasn't a complete idiot cause he knew the little she'd told him she'd done with a purpose; and he had a strong feeling she told him knowing it'd leave him with the fierce need to know more. By Art's standards it was high time to cut her loose, she was unpredictable and a pathological manipulator; though Art did admit she looked like an angel, he'd also been quick to say the devil'd been an angel too.

Art thought Lyla acted of her own accord, reeking havoc for the sake of havoc; it's what Tim had thought too. Til last night. While he supposed it had a lot to do with havin' his dick inside her, it wasn't the only reason. He'd seen somethin' in her eyes that had him looking closer, that had him wantin' more from her cause he knew there was more to her. And now he knew she didn't carry the Crowder name with pride, it was a cross and she was doin' all she could to bear it.

…

_Instinct told him he should get gone, it's how it always went – but he was not only in his house, a rarity if ever there was one, he also wanted her there. So after he came he didn't roll off her, didn't pull his clothes on, didn't go back to the table to finish his meal cause the night was over. He stayed where he was staring down at her flushed face wonderin' if his eyes were as glazed as hers. "That was better than I remember." And it was. A bit rougher too. His shoulder burned from where her nails dug into his skin, he'd look at it in the morning and see crescent shaped whelps; not to say it'd all been her, he could see the imprint of his teeth on her collar and knew her hips were sore from overstretching. _

_Her smile was tired, half formed. "You sayin' I wasn't good last time?" she asked almost teasingly, cause she knew she hadn't been as interested._

_"I'm sayin' you weren't that good," he said feeling her chuckle against his chest, "and by that I mean you didn't want it." He was quite happy with himself for figuring that out, not that she'd been bad the first time she just hadn't been nearly as involved - and hell if this time she hadn't been in complete control of his every movement._

_She could see he was proud of himself, something she didn't understand cause it meant she'd used him for a bed and that made her a whore - she didn't know if that thought had yet registered or if he just didn't mind. And she didn't like not knowin' things. "Your dick yes, you no," she said watching a grin spread on his mouth, and behind that she could see he was thinking._

_"Was it the touch of PTSD that did you in?" he asked, watching first her confusion and then her surprise as she stared up at him._

_That'd taken her for a loop cause it wasn't at all what she thought he'd say. She'd admitted, willingly, that she'd wanted him tonight; he was thinkin' something very specific, and it took her a moment of staring at his blank face til she got it. "Might've been the borderline alcoholism." That he didn't smile is how she knew she'd figured out what he was doing. "Are you testing me Tim Gutterson?"_

_He still didn't smile, didn't even want to. "It's concerning how well you're doing," he told her.__She should've been uncomfortable, forced her way out from beneath him and hastily redressed saying she'd made a mistake. Other than the surprise at his offhand question she looked content to stay where she was._

_A crooked smile tugged on her mouth. "I thought it'd be more concernin' how good we fit together."_

_His first instinct was to correct her saying it was well, not good - and then the meaning behind her words hit him. "And here I thought you were usin' me for my body," he said dryly makin' her laugh._

_"It was your face not your body," she said finally getting a reaction outta him with the raising of his brows. "But I'm serious, soon as I tell ya we'll see eye to eye on this bein' a mistake. Only you might actually stay away."_

_His brow rose higher at her admittance. "Well now I'm dyin' to know what you're thinkin'," he said, sarcasm thick in his voice but it didn't cover the overwhelming curiosity in his eye._

_She smiled lightly knowin' he'd been dying to know her thoughts the night they met. "Well, you're an alcoholic with PTSD and I'm a suicidal drunk who won't let you kiss me."_

_He'd've laughed if it didn't make sense, if she hadn't included the bit about kissin' her cause she hadn't let his mouth anywhere near hers. All the signs were there; she'd paced herself at the bar, drinking no more than four glasses of bourbon even though she'd wanted another and unhappily settled for a beer. And then there was tonight, she'd spent most of the day anxious cause of Hunter and instead of gettin' shitfaced she brought beer. She wasn't a lightweight like he'd first thought, she was monitoring herself. That's how he knew she'd been honest speaking of suicide, and wonderin' what happened to cause that evaporated any thought of lettin' her go. Which was exactly what she wanted; like hell she'd volunteer information if she didn't get something out of it. She was still playin' him, only she was now playin' to keep him around. He didn't comment on either the two things she said, which really did prove they'd fit well together cause neither of them would be run off by the past. Instead the words that came out of his mouth were, "you never did say what happened with the sheriff."_

_She'd seen the look she wanted, the fondness – she'd guessed most women ran at the first sign of his PTSD. It's why he'd been fine with a fling, there was nothing personal in it and they'd part ways without sharin' anything about themselves, least until he saw she was messed up too. A suicidal drunk who wouldn't let him kiss her, she'd just planted the thought in his head that he'd found someone messed up enough to handle him - he was pushin' that thought aside in askin' about Hunter, but for a moment she'd seen it in his eye. "I was hopin' I thoroughly distracted you," she said. His answer was placing his elbow beside her head to rest his chin on his hand as he continued staring down at her. _

_"So the sex was a distraction," he said as though it were a revelation. "I thought you were getting it out of the way before you ruined the mood." _

_Her brows were perfectly poised for confusion as she looked at him. "I didn't think there was a mood." His smile was little more than a twitch on his mouth, obviously unhappy with the thoughts she'd stirred in his mind. "D'you really think my daddy would'a let himself be arrested if his hand hadn't been forced?" _

_"You were the force?" he asked waiting as she nodded. "I take it you were not in a holdin' cell," he said realizing with her daddy in prison her silence had been the only thing keeping Sheriff Mosely from killing her._

_She shook her head knowin' he'd read her file, probably had the day after they met. "He broke in the house, tied me to a chair, told my daddy over the phone if he didn't get there he'd hurt me." _

_"That's all it took?" he asked not believin' it. _

_"Hunter didn't even warn him, he just started pullin' teeth." _

_Tim, caught between stupification and disbelief, pulled back her lips – feelin' her open her jaw – to find the last molar on the top and bottom of the right side of her mouth was a silver tooth. "It took your daddy two teeth to agree?" _

_She smiled at the anger in his eye knowin' he thought her daddy should've come the moment he'd found out Hunter had her. "Hunter could'a stopped soon as I started screamin, but he hated my family somethin' fierce so he finished pullin' it. Then I spit the blood on his face." _

_Without meaning to she made him laugh, the thought of how much pain she'd been in and yet she'd still been a smartass – leavin' her alone was proving to be more and more hopeless each time he saw her. "How soon did you regret that?" _

_"Immediately," she said with a small, bitter, laugh. She raised a hand to her face, brushing his fingers away from her cheek as she rubbed the place he'd been touching her. "On that note; do you have anything stronger than beer?" _

_He'd watched exactly how she did it; she hadn't given any sign to minding the touch, hadn't seemed to notice. And the way she'd stopped it seemed absentminded, a reflex, as though she was often touched and she was now so used to brushing it aside it wasn't a thought to her anymore. It said much about her and coupled with her refusal to be kissed on the mouth yet her complete disregard to blowin' a stranger, he was forming an idea of the woman he'd let into his home and let take over his mind. "You're speakin' my language," he said before rolling off her and heading to the kitchen. _

_…_

He only realized the next morning, thinking back on that conversation, that she'd distracted him before he could think what it all meant. And an even more dangerous thought – he wished she was there so he could see her face when he told her. She was turnin' him into an idiot; wakin' up thinking of her, heading to the shower wondering what she looked like when her hair was wet, wonderin' what she ate for breakfast. A damn idiot.

* * *

He didn't see her the next day, didn't hear from her, didn't think of her at all after he'd gotten to work, it was like she didn't exist. It wasn't until he was home nursing a beer that she entered his mind again. He turned on the T.V, had another beer, played a video game, another beer, read, beer, anything to keep her outta his damn head. Drink after drink, switching to bourbon, and finally he convinced himself she was a bad idea; no good could come from a woman that invaded his mind and took his control.

At least until he was called into Art's office the next day. Art sat behind his desk staring at the expressionless young man in front of him, and Tim silently stared back waiting for what would be said. "Bo Crowder's bein' released tomorrow."

"Well there's good news."

Art had expected something more than that, maybe for Tim to nod and say Lyla had told him or just for Tim to look like that affected him in any way; but his voice was a desert and his face was stone. "On the chance she agrees to be an informant you can have no relations with her." It was a reminder Art was required to give, not that he thought Lyla would ever agree or that the two were in anything resembling a relationship.

Tim knew she wouldn't agree, she wasn't stupid it was a death sentence. "Duly noted," he said giving a curt nod.

Art didn't know why he'd expected Tim to have any sort of a reaction, for a look to cross his face that gave him away – Raylan might've, but Tim was a closed book. And it had Art sighing. "I have it on good authority Ms. Crowder will be pickin' him up in the morning. I was considerin' having you and Rachel observe their greeting, see if you can't get proof she'd been lyin' at the prison. Maybe we could scare her with obstruction of justice, if she's not smart enough to realize it's bullshit."

Which she was. Tim knew she wouldn't go for it, would probably widen her eyes to look innocent and frown to look scared and tell them she hadn't said anything at the prison – Tim was a witness. And depending on whether they retracted the charge she might even bring the flirting afterward to the table, turning it so it fell on him so that everything the Marshal's had was thrown out the window. He knew all that, had watched her close enough to see she was always watchin' the other person and thinkin' of how to influence them to her benefit. But what he said was, "There goes screwin' her in the backseat."

"And that's why Rachel's goin' with you," Art said knowing Tim hadn't been serious, and finally he saw a reaction from Tim in the pursing of his lips. "You bet your ass if Lyla Crowder saw a benefit to it she'd take the offer."

There was no reason for it, absolutely no logic behind the swelling of defense Tim felt for Lyla cause what Art said was true; if gettin' out from under the Marshal's noses meant sleeping with someone she'd spread her legs, unhappy as it made her. And yet there Tim was wantin' to tell Art she wasn't like that, which was bullshit cause he didn't know what she was like. "Any reason in particular for the sudden interest in her?"

That took Art by surprise, Tim's voice might've been as dry as always but there'd been anger in his eyes for a brief moment. And it was then Art realized Tim was now as compromised as Raylan; she'd gotten in his head. "We've always had an interest in her. She lived with him, I may be getting old but I like to think I'm not a fool – and it's a fool who believes she lived in that house and knew nothin' about what went on." Of all the people Art had to warn against Lyla, who could go from charming to enraged in the blink of an eye, it shouldn't've been Tim. "With her daddy bein' released and Raylan offering a connection to her, you picked the wrong time to look her way."

Tim nearly snorted at thinkin' he had any control over the situation, but Art was right in his needin' to back off. There was one scenario he could clearly see and that was of her agreeing to spy on her daddy, with a deal there'd be no action taken against her should evidence of her involvement surface – which meant smooth sailin' for her – then after a little informing she'd bring up their sexual relations and quite possibly say it was forced upon her. In the end nothing she said could be used against her daddy and she would then be a victim. Rape, that would be her angle. It's what Art was thinkin' about what Lyla was plannin' as though this had been her intention from the beginning – but Tim didn't believe it. There was somethin' in the back of his mind tellin' him she wouldn't use false rape accusations, but she'd distracted him last night before he could finish that thought and now all he had to go on was she wouldn't let him kiss her – and he needed to see her face to think anything. "So definitely don't screw her in the backseat."


	8. Chapter 8

He passed by the bar everyday after work, it was the most direct route home nothin' had changed. Except now he knew her rusted blue truck. He hadn't realized it til then, seein' her truck in the lot, that he'd been lookin' out for it every time he passed by. And if that wasn't enough of a telling sign, one that read caution, he was pulling into a spot before his mind had caught up to his actions. Common sense said run, everything else told him to get his ass in the bar before she went home with someone else.

Something he didn't have to worry about. "Let's see if this young man can get ya to be nice," the bartender said when Tim sat down beside her.

Any thought of bein' irritated or angry with her for turning his mind inside out, or even the thought of bein' happy to see her, all but disappeared as he turned to an innocent looking Lyla wondering what she'd done. "Well don't let me interrupt," he said knowin' he'd stepped into a conversation.

From behind the bar Mike looked at Tim frowning. "Girl's been comin' here three years, you're about the only sonofabitch I've seen her be nice to. That boy came over to buy her a drink," Tim followed the man's finger to see three kids no older than twenty three and a sulking blonde boy casting Lyla a rueful stare, "within five minutes she'd called him an idiot."

"I may be a bitch, but I had a right this time," she told Mike, who only gave her a hard look at her ill treatment of his patrons. She turned to Tim to prove her point. "They go to college together in California and decided to take a road trip and visit all fifty states. I asked if they were goin' to Hawaii and, swear to god, he told me no just the fifty in the U.S. I didn't even ask about Alaska. Then I, graciously," she said lookin' to Mike who rolled his eyes, "gave him the benefit of the doubt; I'm attractive maybe I dazed him," she turned back to Tim not noticin' him chuckling. "So I said, what's your road man? No idea what I was talkin' about."

Mike leaned against the bar giving her a steady look. "Second time you asked that, is there an answer the rest a world don't know about?"

Tim's gaze was sharp enough to cut her skin, seeing her turn to Mike exasperated. "Holyboy road," he said turning Mike's head in confusion and Lyla's in knowing pleasure, "rainbow road, guppy road, any road."

Without taking her eyes from Tim's she told Mike, "he missed madman road, but see he knows what's up."

Mike looked between the two, neither of their mouths smiling but a fire hotter than hell alight in their eyes. He might not've been wholly pleased with her attitude, he was mildly glad to see her interested in somethin' other than the bottom of a glass. "Come in my place a business talkin' nonsense. Sorry son, I'm not servin' you."

Before Tim could respond, which would've been somethin' horribly rude and uncouth, Lyla spoke up. "Mike, he ain't lettin' me steal his drink. You can serve him."

"Ain't you stealin' it I'm worried about," he told her before lookin' to Tim, "She only comes for the whiskey. I allow her four glasses, she stole the fifth one from that boy. This girl could charm the devil, and you've had your dick in her; she'll convince you to give it to her. My answer's final."

And with that Mike left them to serve someone else, and they quietly sat side by side wishing for alcohol but no bartender to serve them – that was as clear a sign as any that Mike had a fondness for her, knowin' she charmed her way into getting what she wanted and still managed to care about her. It was proof she was likeable, that there was a person in there worth caring for – it was what Tim needed. "Pre-celebratory drinkin' before your daddy gets home?" he asked seeing something was off in the way she sat staring at the wood of the bar. "Or maybe you secretly hate him?"

Without lifting her head from the hand she rested her chin, she shifted her gaze to his face with a sly grin. "Well if he truly was in the business of drugs then I don't want nothin' to do with him."

He laughed in complete disbelief, though his amusement quickly melted from his face when he saw her smile wilt as she looked away. She wasn't happy, that's what was off. His first thought was she was tryin' to pull one over on him, actin' like she didn't want her daddy home to continue the ruse they weren't close. But after several silent minutes she still sat lost in a mind that was half drunk – this was the face he'd seen the night he met her, the sole reason he knew there was more to her. He almost thought he'd imagined it, but there she was staring morosely at the space in front of her; so wearily he couldn't find a shred of pride at knowin' he'd been right. "Come on," he said suddenly as he stood.

It took her a moment before she realized he'd said something and another moment before she realized _what_ he'd said. "I don't remember agreein' to go home with you," she told him, even though she'd come with the intention of seeing him. Her thinking: maybe sex would make her feel better.

Tim stared at her blandly, almost waiting for her to relent and say she'd come specifically for him – but even half drunk she was still a tease cause she continued sitting there with her brows raised questioningly. "I don't have a map but I'm pretty sure Lexington's in the opposite direction of Big Sandy." And there was that coy smile, whatever thoughts troubling her now in the back of her mind.

"Maybe I was hopin' you'd see my car and stop. Then tomorrow you could tail me to the prison instead of pretendin' to hide." She watched him smile at her knowing he'd be at the prison observing her interaction with her daddy. And with that she stood from the bar and walked to the door.

"Hey," Mike said catching Tim before he followed after her. "Don't let her drink anymore. Way she is now she'd start an argument in an empty house, more'll make it worse til suddenly the life in her's gone. If you can't handle that you tell her she's comin' home with me."

Tim stared at the older man's serious face seeing the concern deep in his eyes – if Tim needed more of a sign there was something deeply broken in her then there it was. "I'm not takin' my eyes off her." He didn't include the part about him havin' an almost strictly Marshal interest, at least on that night. He was nearly itching with the want of givin' her a bottle of bourbon so the truth would slip from her tongue; she already could barely keep up the façade she normally wore. He wouldn't, but shit if the thought wasn't just too good.  
Though his interest plummeted when he stepped out of the bar to find her standing against his car starin' up at the orange glow of the sunset; part of why he liked her was the way she conversed. Or rather she was fine with the way _he_ conversed – which was very little. She joined him in his silence, she read his face to know when he was tired of idle chatter and she'd let the conversation hang til he wanted to pick it back up; there was no obligation to speak, no need even for continuity. Two nights ago they'd been talking about movies, which she had a surprisingly limited knowledge of, and then suddenly he asked what she'd do if someone kicked the door down. And without hesitation she asked, "right now or in general," and she'd given a different answer for both. There'd been no moment of confusion or even teasing at the randomness, she took his question in stride and answered seriously. She was easy, relating with her was easy – relationships of any kind normally exhausted him cause the other person required more effort than he had to give. It was near impossible to figure her out, unless she helped, but being around her was comfortable.  
Now she was half drunk, probably lookin' for more booze, and she required attention. The thing that made her so appealing was now replaced by an argumentative depressed woman, and it was the best thing cause it'd mean he would finally leave her alone. Yet he walked to the car regretting the hell out of it.

The drive was silent. No talking, no music to keep them from talking, just complete silence. And she spent most of the ride watching him cause for the first time he was an open book, and it was awfully amusing; the muscles in his jaw were working, his thumbs were tapping a chaotic beat on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road. She shouldn't enjoy his bein' uncomfortable as much as she did, especially not when she'd gone to the library to print out information about PTSD – an uncomfortable situation was a common trigger. But hell if she didn't think he looked cute. "I'm just gonna say two things and we can go back to bein' quiet," she said looking for the sharp rise of his chest that came with a sigh. "I know you saw I was upset. Second, you're moping about havin' to make me feel better cause you hate doin' it but you're gonna try. And I think that's sweet, but I'm fine."

She'd no idea how close she came to pissin' him off. If she'd stopped at "I think that's sweet," he'd've assumed she was gloating at havin' played him – he was having an emotional response, to her, and she'd played him. Enraged was a closer word to what he would've been. Then she said "but I'm fine." She wasn't gloating, she hadn't been playin' him; she was shutting him out. Her hands were up and she was backing away, withdrawing from him and his 'sympathy'. His familiarity with that social tactic sucked any anger he could've had out of him. "But you were a little melancholy flower back at the bar," he cooed sarcastically. "Your stem was bending under the weight of all that hair." He finally looked at her, or rather he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye before lookin' back to the road; her back wasn't as straight as it'd been in the bar, she was relaxing – slightly cause she was still tense. But she was laughing, a warm carefree sound he couldn't help but smile at hearing.

A melancholy flower, she couldn't've kept from laughin' if she'd tried. "What can I say, it's easier to fake it. Gets people to shut up faster."

That was somethin' they agreed on, but he was having fun messin' with her. "Tryin' to get me to shut up, is that it?"

She saw the small grin on his mouth, still didn't think he knew he was doin' it. "Refer to me as a flower again and I'll get ya to shut up." Instinct had him turning to her fully, his guard up at the sound of what could be considered a threat – she'd have to remember that, even playfully, to never insinuate a threat. So to alleviate his suspicion she said, "I'll occupy your vocal cords with somethin' else," she said with a sly smile, watching as he turned back to the road. "I'll make you moan, maybe whimper a little."

"I don't whimper."

Her smile was wide as she watched him, waiting for him to pull into his driveway and cut the engine before he turned to stare back at her in the waning twilight. "The sound you made at my hands on your hips begs to differ."

Before he thought of what he was saying, even more proof that she clouded his mind, he corrected her; "it was your nails." It'd first been her hands trailing down his back and then his hips had bucked and her nails bit into his skin, he'd lost his breath at the pain that was quickly swallowed by pleasure. She, on the other hand, had barely made a sound; nothing more than a handful of gasps from the moving of his hips. But he was stubborn and she was a tease, and the opportunity was right there. "First one to react in any way, your nails, your legs,"

"Well I don't need to make a sound, you know when I'm enjoyin' it."

He'd quickly learned that when her legs tightened around him he'd done somethin' she liked, and he'd do it again and she'd gasp. "You have to answer one question with complete honesty," he said watching something harden in her eyes.

She'd make him moan fore he got anythin' outta her, but she didn't like what he was thinkin, that she'd be so easy to manipulate. "Do I getta decide what I get when I win?" she asked, lookin' hard for the reluctance before he nodded. And then she sat back and contemplated one thing she wanted from him that'd match whatever answer he might want out of her. "In the context of this," she motioned between the two of them, "if I tell you anythin' ya can't use it against me when you remember your shiny badge." She hadn't finished speakin' before refusal etched itself on his face, and fore he could actually form the words in his head she was already talking again. "You wanna get to know me, it's in how fierce you stare. That ain't happenin' if I can't trust you, and right now I'm not tellin' you shit. Less a'course you get a reaction outta me first."

"Yeah, cause what you said really set the mood," he told her, his voice drier than the Sahara.

She was pushin' it, she knew that – he was startin' to see reason, but she was standin' her ground. "Say I wanted to tell you I don't like sudden movements, then you'd be wonderin' why and I told you it's cause my daddy knocked me around when I's a kid. Then you're at the office lookin' to put him back in prison and now you have child abuse to use against him. Here's the problem," she told him, and he sighed knowin' she had a valid point, "I didn't tell a Marshal my daddy abused me, I told the guy that puts his dick in me I don't like sudden movements."

He didn't want to agree with her, didn't want her to be right – but she was. He wouldn't know anything about her less she told him and she wasn't talkin' if she didn't think he'd keep it to himself, and on the other side of that coin he was a Marshal and half the things she'd tell him would put her daddy and his associates in prison. It dawned on him then, staring at her awaiting face, that she was takin' the bigger risk; and she was still sittin' in his car, having come to see him, knowin' the risk of sayin' too much. She distracted him with her face or flirting, or some other great mystery, and he was forgettin' to look at her actions – she'd wanted to see him. But what he actually said was, "so you don't like sudden movements."

She'd seen his eyes soften, at least in relation to lookin' at her, and that wasn't what she was expectin' him to say. "My daddy's the reason for a lot of things, but not that," she said before undoing her seatbelt and stepping out of the car, forcing him to follow.

"So then you're not happy to see him?" he asked honestly having no idea what to think, the only thing he had to go on was the lie from the prison and the fact that she was getting' drunk the night before he came home. And her face was givin' him nothing.

He motioned her through the door before locking it after them, hanging up his jacket before taking hers, and then he stood waiting for an answer – cause he was startin' to lean toward her not wantin' her daddy outta prison. "Guess you'll find out tomorrow," is what she told him, her mouth quirked in a coy grin. "Less that's the question you want an honest answer to. If you can get me to react first, that is."

Stepping closer he backed her against the wall staring hard at her face, seein' the resolve in her eyes – he was as determined as she was to get what he wanted, and there was no way he'd let her win.

…

He sat in his SUV across the street from where Lyla was parked outside the prison, her leg propped up on the window, a book in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He'd failed miserably the night before, cum before she had too – it'd surprised him how much she hadn't really seemed to mind. Surprise turned to shock when she looked at him with a grin sly enough to put a fox to shame, and asked with a face more innocent than it had any right if he was gonna finish her off or would she. And shit if he hadn't laid back and watched.

"That's a lot of hair," Rachel said sittin' beside him.

Tim hummed his agreement. Her hair was a mess too, big and tangled – though that was mostly his doing from last night. "What do you think she's doin?"

"It looks like she's reading," Rachel replied matter of fact, smirking lightly when Tim turned to her irritated. "I only know her last name and I'm not too fond of that."

He nodded before turning back to Lyla, or rather he scanned the area around them for any sign of threat before his eyes settled on where she sat still reading. She hadn't even made an attempt to look for his car, which he'd expected – he expected her to have looked for him, found him, and then smiled before lookin' away. But she seemed lost in her book. "She told me her father's first move would be to go after Ava," he said without looking at Rachel, knowing she was surprised – hell, he'd been surprised when the words had left her mouth. What'd surprised him more was wakin' up to her sittin' on the edge of the bed; she'd been gone the past two times he woke, now there she sat teeth brushed in the same clothes she'd worn the night before, her hair a particularly tangled mess. His first thought was she was beautiful, and then his glazed eyes had cleared and he noticed the soft curling on her mouth – moment her hand moved between his legs he was wide awake, and then she'd started talkin'. He of course left that out, left out that she'd gotten him off in under two minutes too.

"What all did she say?" Rachel asking glancing at where Ms. Crowder sat in her truck, now occasionally lookin' up to see if her father was comin'.

Tim shrugged. "Said he'd verbally try to run Ava Crowder outta Kentucky, for Lyla's benefit, then when that didn't work he'd kill Mrs. Crowder."

Rachel noticed that Tim referred to Lyla only by her first name, somethin' he didn't seem to notice – if this wasn't the first woman he'd shown any interest in the nine months she'd known him she might've teased him, even if the woman was Lyla Crowder. "And she told you out of the goodness of her law-breakin' heart?" Rachel asked sarcastically, though Tim nodded uncomfortably beside her. "She's up to something then."

"I don't think she wants him home," Tim said watching her look up to see Bo walkin' outta the prison – she didn't sigh, her shoulders didn't slump, she didn't give any indication that she was dreading the smile that was forming on her mouth. What she did was take a breath, deep enough he saw the rise of her chest, before she smiled and stepped out of the truck.

"Did she put her cigarette out on her leg?" Rachel asked thinkin' surely she'd been mistaken.

But Tim nodded, now knowin' she wasn't happy. No amount of smilin', as wide and sweet as it was, or her legs wrapping around his waist as he picked her up would convince Tim otherwise. Bo, on the other hand, was thrilled – and with the click of the camera Rachel captured the proof that Lyla was his pride and joy as he grinned wildly.  
The two Marshals then watched as the Crowders walked back to her truck talkin' about something – what he wanted for lunch – before she slid back into the driver's seat and turned to look directly at Tim. She didn't smile or wink, didn't wave, she just looked at him and then she stopped.

Tim turned at the sound of the camera snapping another photograph, missing Lyla driving away. There were many things Rachel wanted to say, Tim had a good idea of all of them, but her face clearly read you're an idiot. "Say it," he told Rachel knowin' she wanted to, and maybe needed to hear it.

Rachel knew from his unreadable face this was not something he wanted made public, too bad Art was expecting a full recount on how the two 'lovebirds' had behaved. "You wanna get your hand caught in a trap, be my guest," she told him with as much emotion as there was on his face, which was none. "But don't expect me to help you get it out."


	9. Chapter 9

_1x08_

It was after ten when Bo finally got home; after he 'talked' to Ava, visited their lawyer to talk about Boyd bein' released tomorrow, and found a hooker to bring with him. He probably would'a gotten a room in Lexington if he didn't wanna be in his own bad so damn bad. Either way Lyla looked up from where she read on the couch to see a pretty blonde followin' her daddy to his room. She rolled her eyes so hard they might've gotten stuck before she walked to her room and grabbed her old CD player smothering the horrid sounds the woman was making.

_Well I'm busted, yes I'm busted. But my heart won't let me die_

…

_She said, I know what it's like to be dead. I know what it's like to be sad. And she's makin' me feel like I've never been born._

Lyla looked up from her book at the door opening, reachin' for the gun on the bedside table. But it was nothin' more than her daddy's whore and she sighed pulling the headphones off to hear what she wanted.

"He wanted you to come in."

With a small groan she forced herself outta the bed and into the hall, seein' the woman in a skirt that showed her ass and a shirt that barely covered her, and on her feet were the most uncomfortable lookin' heels. "D'you drive yourself?" she asked, sighing again when the woman shook her head. "Come on, I'll drive you."

Forty-five long minutes later and Lyla was finally back home, locking the door after her and pulling off her boots.

"You should'a let her walk," Bo said layin' on the bed watchin' T.V. when she came to his room.

"You could'a least put pants on," she countered laying beside him, her head fitting against his collar bone as his arm wrapped around her back. "And she was half naked in five inch heels, I wasn't gonna make her walk."

Bo smiled as he kissed her head. "I got me a sweet girl," he mumbled against her skin, enjoying the feel of her against him. He hadn't let anyone other than Lyla do this since his wife died. He didn't breathe in tune with anyone less he loved them somethin' fierce, and Lyla was all he had left of love; she was all the good he was capable. But that good stretched so far and he had the habit of breakin' the people he held closest. "Hey darlin?" he asked, feeling the vibration of her hum. "I gotta guy I need to get cookin' for me again. Think you can see him tomorrow, win him over with that pretty mouth a yours?"

Just like that her skin was covered with a thousand angry red ants biting into her flesh. Not even twenty-four hours and he was askin' her to suck someone's dick for him, and what's worse is that she hadn't expected it after all those years. "Okay," she breathed.

When her daddy said, "thank you darlin, you're the only person I can count on," it didn't strike her as anythin' but normal that he didn't notice, that he was too apathetic to the thought of puttin' her on her knees to ever notice – and she was too busy drownin' in commonality and lonely to realize there was a good man sittin' on his couch thinkin' of her, and he would've noticed.

…

Tim found her after work the next night, her blue truck purposefully in view of the main road enticing him to stop. He'd expected the forlorn face she wore - Boyd had been released that afternoon, her daddy the day before. Only reason she'd be at a bar in Lexington was if she wasn't happy. "What're you drinkin?" he asked sittin' next to her.

"Coke," she answered without turning.

Now he really knew she wasn't happy, she was almost pouting. "What're you chasin' it with?"

She turned to him then givin' him an almost pitiful look. "Coke," she said again. "He's not servin' me. I've been poutin' for the past twenty minutes he ain't cavin' and he won't serve you neither."

He watched her rest her cheek in hand lookin' all sorts of cute; if she'd let him he'd kiss her frowning mouth. "You realize you're losin' money not serving us," he said when Mike came by to refill her glass.

Mike looked from Lyla's intentionally sweet face to Tim's curious one and shrugged. "You don't know her yet; most a the time she's the coldest bitch you'll ever meet but there's moments, few and sparse as they are, where she's lovely. Worth every penny lost."

Tim's brows rose in surprise at the kind words and he looked to see if it made her smile only to find her rolling her eyes. Though he was the one smilin' when she said, "Fine, I'll stop pouting."

"Good," Mike said slapping down a soggy rag on the counter, "you're just about too damn cute to resist."

She finished her coke wishin' it had whiskey. "And yet ya told me no," she said makin' him smile fore he refilled her glass and left to serve another man further down the bar.

Tim almost regretted Mike's affection for her, as comforting as it was to see, cause he really wanted a drink. "How's celebratin' without booze?"

She slid her glass toward him, her throat tired of the carbonation. "Why don't you join me? It'll give you the chance to face your problems with a clear head."

"Every man's wet dream," he said taking an unsatisfied drink. "So why're you stayin' it's obviously not for the drinks?"

With a sigh she turned away, almost wishing he didn't look so close. "I'm hopin' when I leave in," she looked at her watch, "four hours my daddy and Boyd'll have passed out and I can go home to a quiet house and leave fore anyone wakes up." She left out how she'd left before dinner, grabbin' something on the way up, and was for all intents and purposes hidin' at the bar.

But he guessed it himself, she was obviously happier here than at home and the difference between now and a few days ago was there were people now livin' in a house she used to be alone in. She enjoyed solitude, she liked routine and change disrupted it throwing everything off makin' her anxious and disgruntled. Way she sat shoulders drawn in didn't evoke the need to protect, the vibe she was givin' off was the complete opposite; her body clearly read don't touch me. But where most men were stayin' away, which was obvious cause she was gettin' stares but no passes, he was drawn to her. Even if what he was about to say was makin' his mouth drier than a handful of peanuts. "You could skip the dance all together, find a place to stay here."

She just about snorted as she turned to him but she didn't tease – men were different creatures than women, she knew that very well, emotions were harder on men and it was no easy thing for women. So she gave him as much truth as he'd given her. "Would that offer still stand if I told you I didn't wanna have sex?"

He turned to her surprised not just by her honesty – which he was surprised at considering she hadn't laughed first – but by the implication behind what she'd said. "Sex isn't payment."

She saw he was baffled and shocked at knowin' she thought it was and she shrugged looking away from him. "Maybe not where you're from. But it don't change the fact you don't know me enough to want me in your house just for the hell of it."

"Well your home was taken over."

She laughed then, but it wasn't one of amusement. "That ain't my home. I'd also be terrible company and you seem to be in a good mood."

He sat starin' at her face, made all the more pretty from her melancholia. He learned more about her each time he saw her, though he was left with more questions – and once again he found no pleasure in seein' he'd been right in her not wantin' her daddy home. Cause he was startin' to see, very clearly, the Crowder name was an ever tightenin' leash. Taking a deep, thoughtful, breath he stood from his chair with the intention to leave – and with the intention for her to come with him. "Well I'm sure with a little bourbon you'll perk right up."

She smiled turning her body to face where he stood beside her. "Are you temptin' me with alcohol?" she asked, glad Mike was preoccupied or else he'd refuse – she was in a mood, it was never good when she started out angry.

At the feel of her knee on his leg his eyes had flicked down out of habit. "Are you wearin' pants?"

She looked at her jeans realizin' this was probably the first time he'd seen her in anything but shorts and she smiled before standing. "Yeah I got tired a hearin' Boyd recitin' verses on sexual impurity. Believe it or not," she walked around him, watchin' as he turned so not to leave his back to her – he still didn't trust her, he was smart - "my ass looks better in these than the shorts."

Oh he believed it, he watched the round proof as she walked to the door before he walked after her. "Follow me home, you don't need to walk alone tomorrow mornin' when you leave," he said seein' her smile almost mischievously – now knowing she got a ride from someone in the mornings – as well as curiosity in her furrowed brows. "I only drive you when we have sex."

She laughed as she walked round her truck to the driver's side, enjoyin' his dry humor that cracked like a whip – only person who made her laugh as much as Tim was able, was Devil. And shit if that didn't say everythin. Which is why instead of turning for Harlan, like she probably should've done cause Tim was seein' more of her than she wanted and she didn't have the energy to pretend that particular night, she didn't. She followed him home, arrivin' barely a minute after, and let him walk her to the door – almost amazed he wasn't expectin' sex in return for her stayin' with him.  
"What's that?" she asked when she got inside to see he'd paused somethin' on the television.

"That," he started now remembering he'd been plannin' on finishing it after work, "is the game I was playin' this morning."

She saw it then, the strange animation that almost looked real, the people he was lookin' through a scope at - a Marshal playin' a shooting game, a terrible idea. "Don't stop on my account," she told him grabbin' the book outta her purse. "And 'less you wanna lose don't ask me to play."

"Not good or don't like 'em?" he asked watching her sit with her legs curled beneath her on his couch, and he almost had the thought of layin' down with his head in her lap - she'd probably let him if he did, would only look down at him with a brow raised before she started readin' but she let him.

"People in third world countries might have a better grasp on technology than I."

With a grin and a shake of his head he grabbed a bottle of bourbon and two glasses before he sat on the opposite end of the couch. "Don't have a need for it in Harlan?"

She shrugged happily takin' a glass. "Know my way round a cash register, can work a flip phone but god forbid you make me text, and I do better with paperwork than computers. But software for bookkeepin' and budgeting and financial reports, spreadsheets, things of the like – picked all that up in college, and runnin' the store."

Tim stared at her almost stunned. "You went to college?"

"Excuse you," she laughed, unoffended – she didn't talk like she graduated high school, and even that was thought out cause there was a vast vocabulary tucked away in her mind, same as Boyd. "I'll have you know I had three months fore I got a degree in accountin' when my daddy pulled me out."

He couldn't help it he'd been caught so off guard at realizing everything she did was an act; he wondered how many people underestimated her thinkin' she had limited knowledge. She really was turning out to be brilliant. And then his mind reached the end of what she said. "Why'd he do that?"

Shaking her head she opened her book. "I am not drunk enough to give you that answer," she said knowin' she'd only further captured his attention, as well as he was not a man to ask somethin' he knew she didn't want to answer. If she was bein' interrogated, which with both daddy and brother outta prison it was only a matter of time, he'd be more demanding. But for the time bein' he settled back on the couch, leavin' a cushion between them, and continued playin' his game.

After her fourth glass he stopped refillin' his and instead drank outta the bottle, and he eventually stopped lookin' to see if she was bored and ready to leave cause she was perfectly content to sit beside him reading. It might've been the most comfortable he'd been in years; they went hours without talking, only sound between them the sounds from his game and when she occasionally shifted position. After a while she settled, head on a pillow and her legs curled with her feet nearly against his leg. It wasn't until he'd stopped to rub his eyes that he finally looked at his watch to see they were pushin' midnight – and seein' as they both woke fore six they'd been all around tired tomorrow.

Moment he turned to her a smile spread on his mouth. She was layin' on her side a hand tucked under her chin, the other loosely holdin' the book, and she was fast asleep. There was no peace in her sleep, she was quiet and still but she wasn't at ease – which further proved her mind was a dark place if she couldn't escape from it in dreaming. He didn't resist the temptation of curlin' himself around her, he allowed himself to sling an arm over her waist and lay with her back to his chest and his head against her shoulder. She was warm and comfortable, and with his nose so close to her hair he could smell the flowers in her shampoo. She smelled like flowers and cigarettes.

* * *

_1x10 – a week later_

Lyla was barely through the front door fore her daddy was demanding, "has Boyd told you anythin' of his plans?"

She carried the groceries for dinner into the kitchen, her father looming over her sticking closer than her shadow. "Other than builidn' a church and bringin' the good Lord to Harlan, he hasn't said much. 'Sides callin' me a whore, at least."

The groceries had barely settled on the counter when Bo wrapped his hand in her hair forcing her head back and her eyes to meet his. "I tolerate many things outta you darlin, but lies and betrayal'll get you in the ground fore you know what hit you. So I'll ask you again, let you reconsider," his hand tightened pulling at her roots, "has your fool of a brother told you anything?"

'He does not retract His words, but will arise against the house of evildoers. And against the help of the workers of iniquity.' That'd been Boyd's reasoning for why he wanted to blow up the lab, no matter what she said to convince him otherwise; he was set in workin' for the Lord even if she was the one who took the brunt of their daddy's anger. Boyd's response to that was another verse: 'Do not walk in the statutes of your fathers or keep their ordinances or defile yourselves with their idols.' With that he'd told her she'd at least be doing somethin' righteous. Boyd was being an idiot, he wanted out from beneath their daddy and he was usin' this religious nonsense to do it – she didn't blame him, but it didn't make her less inclined to wanna knock his ass out.  
"All he talks about is doin' the Lord's work, anything you ask he answers with the Bible and I'm not real sure if he's actually quotin' scripture or just makin' shit up. But daddy he hasn't told me anything."

Bo stared hard at her face lookin' for any sign she was lying; thinkin' she was his little girl, he'd know if she was lying. But he only saw what she gave him, which was innocence. "I'll remember that, baby girl. If you tell me fore I find out myself the punishment won't be so bad, _you_ remember that."

She nearly stumbled when he released her, leaving her in the kitchen tryin' to slow her breathing fore she got worked up; Boyd was all talk at the moment and he sure as hell wasn't gonna tell daddy he'd told her anything. Everything was fine. All she had to do was make dinner.

"What the hell are you thinkin?" Johnny demanded quietly, lookin' over his shoulder for Bo before he started unloading the groceries. "Boyd tells you everythin' and I know you seen his mind's turned to shit, he ain't lookin' out for you no more Lyla. If you die he'll say it was the Lord's will."

Peering around him to see her daddy's attention on one of his associates she looked back to Johnny and whispered just as fiercely; "daddy'll beat me senseless, he ain't killin' me over Boyd."

"Alright," he gave her that one, "what if he finds about the Marshal? You better thank the damn Lord he had me on you last night."

"I'd say it's fine less you tell him."

"What if he puts someone else on you, what'll you do then?"

With a roll of her eyes she brushed her hair back and started grabbing the pots she needed. "I'll say it was too good an opportunity; the very people who want him and Boyd back in prison and I got one of 'em around my little finger." That wasn't at all true, Tim wasn't wrapped around any part of her and frankly she didn't want him for the purpose of keepin' Bo out of prison – and now it'd gone to shit cause she liked him.

She had an answer for everything, and what was better was that her answers would appease Bo – girl could worm her way outta anything with him. At the end of this she might walk away with only a few bruises. But Johnny wasn't appeased cause she was goin' too far, Lyla was mixed up in every way; between Bo and Boyd, the Marshals and the Crowders, Bo and Ava. Lyla was smack in the middle of it all, somethin' was gonna blow in her face. "Don't see him for a while, least til somethin' happens between your daddy and Boyd," he added seein' her refusal at not seeing the Marshal. "I mean it, Lyla Jo. I know we never been close, but somethin' happened after I helped you bury Bowman and I'm tryin' to look out for you. Stop makin' it so hard for me. And for the love of God you stay far away from Ava. You got all you're getting' outta him with her, and that includes Raylan. Might be worse if he finds Raylan's on your side, he won't ask questions he'll assume you betrayed him."

She looked up at Johnny wonderin' where the sudden spread of affection came from cause she could see he was sincere – she also knew he was absolutely right, anything with Raylan and her daddy would be aimin' to kill.  
She didn't know if it was irony or just plain stupid; she left the house to take care of Mack like she did everyday after work, as well as see if he was up for goin' over things about his store, and as soon as she started makin' him dinner she called the last person she should've been talkin' to.

"Hello?"

"Hey Raylan, it's Lyla."


	10. Chapter 10

"Hey Raylan, it's Lyla."

He paused at the sound of her voice, wondering why she was calling – he'd gone to Devil, to Dewey, askin' people closest to Boyd for information on him. He never considered Lyla; a gun to her head she wouldn't say a word against her brother. "Lyla Jo, didn't realize I'd given you my number."

"You were in the shower," she said making him laugh at knowin' she'd taken it. "Do you look at who's callin' fore you answer, you'd've seen my name?"

Raylan smiled as he drove with Judge Reardon to whatever bar he normally ventured. "What can I do for you, Lyla?"

"You busy?" she asked; he would've continued joking if he wasn't. "I'm sure you'd tell me if this was a bad time." He wouldn't, he was after Boyd and she had all the answers; he could've been arrestin' someone and he might've still taken her call.

"Honey I'd tell you if I didn't wanna talk to ya," he told her curious why she'd called him specifically – she had a better chance of gettin' answers outta Tim cause of the sex. Not that Tim would say anything, which was why Art wasn't pushin' it – Tim didn't talk about her, and didn't talk to her about work. Which meant she'd called for something personal. "So what can I do?"

"Somethin' you can say, actually," she told him, melting butter in a pot. "I'm gonna ask you somethin' but give me a minute fore you roll your eyes." She allowed him time to refuse, for him to decide to hang up; that moment told him she was hesitant, that her question was personal and he may not answer, which put Raylan in the mindset that she was small and needed his help. That moment would make him more likely to answer, and he hadn't hung up yet. "Is your sole aim gettin' Boyd in prison or are you lookin' at my daddy too?"

He might not've rolled his eyes but he sighed shakin' his head. "You're not an idiot, you know I can't answer that." His brows furrowed at what sounded like crinkling on her end.

It was onions, which were now sizzling in the pot. "Not lookin' for details just a simple yes or no. Are you lookin' to put my daddy away or is this a vendetta against my god-fearin' brother?"

He rolled his eyes then, having spoken to Boyd and gotten nothing but distorted religious ramblings. But he didn't refuse her, not completely – she knew he was after Boyd, Devil made it clear he'd call her thinkin' she'd have some way of puttin' a stop to it. He didn't see harm in admitting that, hell his honesty might get something out of her. "Soon as Boyd's back where he belongs I can look into gettin' your daddy back there too."

"So you're not," she said almost irritably, adding thyme and the paprika she'd bought at the store – referring briefly to the recipe she'd written down about a year ago. Rachael Ray was the only show she and Mack actually agreed on and Lyla paid attention to anything relating to soup; it was easiest on him cause of his gum disease. And his favorite was tomato soup, it was also incredibly easy to make. She added salt and pepper and covered the pot to let it sit, leaning her hip on the counter as she held her phone to her ear.

Raylan drove hearing her making noise in the background but she didn't say anything. "Is there something you're tryin' to tell me?" he asked wondering if Tim was right– it was hard to believe, she'd always been a daddy's girl.

She brushed her hair behind her ear glad he wasn't there to see her, he'd know she was upset with his answer; but her voice she could control. "Maybe I wanted to know what you were doin' so I'd know what I was up against, Boyd's always been my favorite you know."

"I do know," he agreed. "But you weren't askin' about your brother."

"How do you know? My plan all along could've been to hear you were goin' after Boyd – I might've asked bout my daddy but your answer wasn't about him."

The smile left his face as he held the phone in one hand and the other held the wheel. It took him a moment of thinking he was an idiot for tellin' her anything, cause she was absolutely right, before he remembered she'd already known his sights were set on Boyd. "Well shit Lyla," he exclaimed quietly, "I know Devil told you I went to see him." He was impressed at her ability to make him forget something he already knew, especially as a way to not answer his question – but he was also incredibly unhappy she was able to do it. To be able to turn anything, even her own sayings, to her benefit should've worried him; but then she spoke, and he was once again wrapped around her finger.

"If I told you what I wanted I'd have to tell you why. And if you knew what life with my daddy's been like I could kill a man in front of you and ya'd find a way to pardon me. And that's not exaggeratin' it's just been a long twenty years."

"Okay," he said reluctantly lettin' it go but only cause he'd heard something in her voice. "Now it's my turn to ask somethin'," he said hearing the breath of her sigh. "Are you happy?" The answer was in her silence, and he felt somethin' in him going out to her – he knew round about what her childhood was like, he saw too much of himself in her and the similarities they shared is what made them hard, what sucked the life away. And he'd always had a weakness for pretty women. "Call Tim, get outta Harlan for the night."

Oddly enough she'd planned to call Tim next, to tell him she wasn't comin. "Away from my family, you mean."

"Well," he pulled into a space outside the bar and cut the engine, "you said it not me."

Her smile was small, tired, unhappy. "Hey Raylan," she said waitin' for his quiet 'yeah', "don't make it known we're talkin." Before he posed his next question, which was if she was safe, she hung up. He wouldn't like the answer to that, and she wanted to know what his mindset was in the comin' days to see how much he was willing to risk to get to Boyd – cause if she was right then he'd throw her under the bus. But she was at least givin' him a chance to prove her wrong.  
Without the sense the good Lord gave her she was dialin' Tim's number as she walked to the front window. She didn't return Tim's hello she simply asked, "where are you right now?"

He'd given her his number two days before, after seein' her a total of twelve times and knowin' her almost two months, he figured he should have a way to get in touch with her. Especially now that her daddy was out and Raylan was after Boyd; it seemed every day he saw her she looked a little more run-down. Art had advised, strongly, stayin' clear of her; they were lookin' to take the Crowders down and anyone with common sense knew her hands were dirty, and if it were possible they'd take her down too. And Tim thought about it so many times, wondered what in the hell he was doin' with her – then she'd arrive at his door quieter, more abrasive, and sadder, than the last time and he couldn't help himself. And so his answer was, "I did not get shit to make grilled-cheese for you to blow me off."

She smiled, watching as Johnny sat in his car readin' some magazine. "Just makin' sure you remembered."

He pulled into his driveway and grabbed the groceries he'd gotten after work before headin' inside. "You seemed pretty sure you were comin' last night. Only reason you'd call is if you changed your mind."

"Look at you usin' your detective skills," she teased fore goin' back to the kitchen to add the tomatoes to the pot.

Locking the door behind him and dropping his keys on the table he set the bags in the kitchen and grabbed a beer. "Don't turn this around on me. I buy a lot things from you, 'specially when your clothes are off, but I ain't buyin' that shit," he told her, wishin' he could see her face cause he knew she was tryin' to be cute. "What happened?"

She hated that he could figure her out, that she'd let him close enough where he was able to; but she liked it more, and she knew he liked it too. "I'm not sure where me and my daddy stand and that's all I'll say on the matter."

From the little he knew about her, which was no more than fingerprints her daddy left on her arms, it wasn't a position she wanted to be in. She was probably walkin' eggshells around Bo, no wonder she was tired. "Yeah I see why you don't wanna come," he told her, "wouldn't have to deal with family shit, it'd be quiet."

She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, peerin' into the living room to see Mack was still awake – he was so sluggish these days, only perked up when she brought booze. "It's quiet here," she said as a pathetic means of defense. "Til Mack hollars at the T.V."

Tim stood against his counter hearin' Mack yell, 'take a dick in the ass, Lyla Jo,' and then as Lyla dryly responded with, 'I don't do anal.' They were an odd pair, constantly yelling insults and slinging foul language; but Lyla went by his house everyday to make him dinner and bathe him cause he pissed himself without the energy to get off the couch. She cared for the dyin' alcoholic more fiercely than Tim thought her capable, and god if he didn't enjoy every reminder of that. "You don't have to come if you don't want to," he said leaving her no obligation to him.

But she sighed, not feelin' obligation but want. "Be easier if I didn't like you."

Wasn't the first time she'd admitted to liking him, and it did the same thing now as it had then – and his reaction, which was him wanting her, was the only reason she said it. "Yeah you should stop that."

She smiled at the deepening of his voice, getting what she wanted in his arousal. "You first," she said hearin' the breath of his laugh. "I'll see you at eight."

Thirty minutes later Johnny wasn't saw her walking outta the house with the pot – she'd done the same thing last night, taking dinner with her to Lexington where she stayed with the Marshal. "I know you're not about to leave."

"Call my daddy, say I fed you dinner and I'm stayin' the night," she told him setting the soup on the passenger's side floor. "Or tell him the truth, say I'm with a Marshal, say you think I'm bein' an idiot but after Bowman passed you feel the need to protect me. He'll say it's good someone's lookin' out for me, he won't be mad at you," she huffed, climbing in the driver's side. "Say I was an idiot and fell in love; hell maybe daddy won't be mad at me neither."

Johnny scowled watchin' her drive away. He called Bo and lied, said she was staying with Mack. And the only reason he did was cause he was seein' she was somewhere on her way to in love, and outta the lot of 'em she deserved it most.

…

_1x11_

Tim's workday ended in Art's office hearing, again, about the meth lab explosion whose main suspect was Boyd Crowder with the running theory he was working with his daddy; and Art's own personal theory, which Raylan disagreed with, was Lyla playin' some hand in it all. There was no evidence to put her with either Boyd or her daddy in anything they'd ever done in their entire lives – all law enforcement had to go on was she was a Crowder, that was apparently all the proof required.

But a shared name wasn't grounds to consider her a suspect, the only authority they had – since they were bordering harassment – was going after her as an informant. And their efforts either amused her or she was waiting for some lose bit of information cause she neither agreed nor disagreed to inform, which meant they'd continue to ask; especially now everyone was outta prison.

"She's smart," Art said sitting behind his desk. "Local police, hell state police, started askin' her to inform on her daddy since she turned eighteen. It's a general rule when askin' a person to give information that you tell them what you wanna know; where your daddy does his business, who works with him. And somehow that girl figured out how to play us, gives information small enough to peak our interest, like eight years ago she let a name 'slip' which was a pervert who said nothing against her daddy. We think she's helpin' we think she's a viable source of information but all she's doin' is monitoring our plays and coverin' her daddy's ass by givin' us dead ends."

"I don't think that's fair."

Both Art and Tim turned to see Raylan leaning against the door. "I don't remember invitin' you to this particular conversation."

"Well if it's just a conversation," Raylan said moving to take a seat. "You forgot to mention that pervert was arrested for statutory rape, which we wouldn't have found out about if she hadn't given his name." Raylan sat back with an arrogant grin having proved his point.

"One name don't make her a saint."

Raylan shrugged nonchalant. "Before her daddy went to prison four names were given, only verbally is her name attached – she never agreed to be a CI. All four of those men went to prison based on what was found upon further investigation. Don't get me wrong, she fed the police crap to take their eyes off Bo but she did give you information."

"As well as two cook sites," Tim added. The sites weren't big, and they'd also been abandoned when police arrived.

Art sized Tim up as he sat stoically opposite the desk. "You get that from her file or did she tell you?"

Raylan looked at the younger man wonderin' what all she did tell him, as well as how she was with him cause he was obviously taken with her givin' his silence. So Raylan looked to Art. "I thought the reason you allowed his relations with Lyla was cause he didn't speak for either side?" Raylan posed earning a harsh look from their boss. "Unless of course we now have evidence that makes her a suspect of a crime."

"When that day comes neither of you will be allowed near her case, or her. I find it absolutely fascinating you two have the most emotional investment in Ms. Crowder." While that was true his tone of voice was so hard and exasperated it might well not've been.

Raylan sighed, tired of this particular conversation cause they were all closed minded in their view of her. "You don't know her."

Art held up a hand silencing Raylan's spiel. "We can't prove her involvement in her daddy's business, fine I won't call her a criminal. But do you have proof she's as good as the sweet kid you remember?"

Finally, something Raylan had a direct answer to – one that proved he and Tim weren't damn fools. "She's funneling money into Ava's account," he wisely left out it was technically coming from the store, Ava had assured him Lyla was takin' it outta her own paycheck. There was no actual stealing, which didn't make it less illegal but Raylan honestly didn't mind lookin' the other way on this. "The owner of the store, Mack, is dyin' of cirrhosis and yet he's fed dinner every night, his house is neat, his garden's tended, his bills are all paid. And before you say anythin' he's a ninety pound alcoholic who can't get off the couch, whose only kin lives outta state."

"Mmhm," Art hummed nodding, thinkin' deeply enough it showed on his face. "And you know she's carin' for him how?"

"I paid her a visit the other day," Raylan answered. "She made beef stew and I swear, she chewed every piece of beef so he could swallow it." He paused to let Art soak in that disgusting mental picture, seein' him grimace. "She also cleans the bucket he pees and shits in since he can't get up. Is that enough, cause I can vouch for her wipin' his ass too."

"Alright," Art said mostly to shut him up. "What were you doin' in Harlan?"

Raylan shrugged feigning innocence. "Personal business." And before Art could say anything on that matter Raylan turned to Tim. "Was the stew as good it as smelled?"

Tim gave a short, quiet, irritable laugh as he stood. "If that's all."

Art was about to tell him to sit back down, to advise him to rethink a relationship with her, but Raylan quickly spoke up – hopin' maybe Tim would think to keep Lyla outta Harlan tomorrow. "Are we gonna continue talkin' about a girl who may or may not be a criminal, or can we talk about the raid to get Boyd who we know killed a man?"

At the time Tim had been glad to leave the office, to leave behind another talk about whether Lyla had said anything – which she hadn't – and to be reminded, again, if evidence surfaced against her she may use their sexual relations against him. He knew the risks he was taking, how this could all blow up in his face; when he found himself thinking of her in the middle of the day he'd convince himself it was a mistake. Then he'd see her, whether it was her truck at the bar, or they'd agreed on a day she was comin' up and he heard her pull into his driveway. Just like that it wasn't so much a mistake as it was serendipity.

That night was no different. He'd gone home regretting her and then two and half hours later her headlights flashed through his window and he was unlocking the door and invitin' her inside. He didn't notice it immediately, more time she spent around him the better she got at hidin' when she was upset – she smiled, she laughed at his jokes, she kept up a conversation and fell silent when he wanted to. She did everything right. Then he'd asked her about Boyd.  
"Can I ask you a question about your brother, for curiosity's sake?" He didn't try to bullshit her, he'd learned days ago she was more likely to answer if he asked her straight.

She shrugged loading their dishes. "Sure."

That's when he noticed. She should've turned to him and asked, maybe jokingly, if he was sure it wasn't for a Marshal's sake – and his response, both verbal and physical, would tell her whether he was bein' honest. But she hadn't looked at him, didn't seem to really hear him; her mind was far away. "You alright?" he asked moving to stand beside her, taking the silverware from the sink and loading it for her.

She looked up at him and shrugged again – not botherin' to pretend she was fine cause he wouldn't be askin' if she was okay less he'd seen she wasn't. "Ask me your question first," she told him righting herself, preparing herself to lie – lyin' to him was harder than it'd been when she first met him but it wasn't hard enough she wouldn't.

He'd thought good and long about how to ask this question so it wouldn't sound like he was diggin' for information or conformation, or any other formation. But noticing the stillness behind her eyes, that only grew stronger the more upset she was, made him pause; and he stared at her now having forgotten the phrasing. "Did you know Boyd threatened to blow up a math lab?" That wasn't what he'd planned to ask but there was a possibility she didn't know it'd blown up.

But she sighed before starting the dishwasher. "You sound like my daddy."

"What every man wants to hear," he said quietly, not half as sarcastic as he would've if he hadn't been preoccupied with the knowledge Boyd wasn't workin' for Bo.

She didn't just give him a look she practically burned him with her eyes. "I know the lab blew up and I know a man was inside."  
Boyd had come to the store early in the mornin' all kinds of upset – after he'd finally told her what'd happened she'd given him some bullshit about how God had called him to blow up the lab, therefore it must've been His plan for that man to die. She hadn't believed a word she'd said but it made her brother smile.  
But meth labs blew up all the time. Since Tim knew Boyd had threatened to blow it up it meant one of the men had been an informant, which she'd tell her daddy about in the mornin'. "Only reason I'm tellin' you anything is cause I'm standin' between Boyd and my daddy. And Ava and my daddy, and Raylan and my daddy. I might not answer some of your questions but I feel like you should know if anythin' happens, it ain't Boyd I'm worryin' about."

Her voice had been harsh, her gaze set not even half an inch above his eyes – she was tellin' him something she shouldn't, something important. But instead of askin' if she was safe, a question she wouldn't answer, he asked; "is that why you're upset?"

All her gusto released in her heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping and her face fallin' as she leaned against the counter suddenly exhausted. "Mack's gettin' worse." Man was constantly in pain, and pukin' cause he was in pain, and in pain cause he was pukin', his legs were swollen his eyes and skin yellow, his mind jumbling and forgetting. He was dyin' and she didn't want him to. And Tim was standin' there now sympathetic, his face so cute and sweet as he stared at her. "Stop starin' at me like that and get the bourbon."

And that was why he liked her, why he couldn't seem to let her go. She didn't wanna be held, certainly didn't wanna talk about it, and she'd be damned if he saw her cry – she was gonna suck it up and drink it away. It was familiar, it was comfortable; she was so similar to him it was unsettling. And he didn't mind it, he live could with it.


	11. Chapter 11

Tim decided to keep Lyla out of Harlan the following day, or at least he asked her to; told her to stay at his place cause he "wants to see somethin' and it'd only work if she stayed." That tipped her off; what he was beatin' around the bush about was seein' if he liked comin' home to her, except that wasn't what he really wanted cause he didn't beat around anything. From his question about Boyd and the blown up lab it took her a few seconds of consideration fore she knew it had somethin' to do with him. "Alright," she'd said with a shrug.  
He watched her closely as she pulled out her phone, leaned a fraction of an inch closer now tense as though he'd grab her phone if she was callin' Boyd or her daddy. She paid close attention to all of this, his minute actions provin' even more somethin' was gonna happen to Boyd tomorrow. "Hey Jimmy, I've got you comin' in at seven, right?"

Tim waited for whatever response was given, barely able to hear a voice goin' into her ear; he didn't think this was a ruse, only cause she was still sittin' next to him, but he didn't trust her enough to let his guard down.  
"Yeah I'm the worst; gave you job after you tried to rob the place, feed you, give you a place to stay on occasion. I don't know why you put up with me." She listened to Jimmy sigh before grumbling he'd open the store, and she thanked him before hanging up and turning to Tim. "You gonna sit there lookin' for a reason to arrest me or you gonna take my clothes off?"

He sat starin' at her expecting face, her brow cocked her eyes blinking slowly; there was a thought in the back of his mind that she knew somethin' was up, that the moment he left tomorrow morning she'd tip her brother off. He'd have to remember to check her phone after work, see if he was right – _that _might be enough evidence to bullshit her with some charge and use her against her family. Those were Marshals thoughts, ones that'd make Art proud; the other things he was thinkin' not so much. He didn't wanna come home tomorrow and see she'd used him, that she'd broken the trust they'd laid down the past several weeks. In the context of whatever their relationship was, which wasn't much more than sex and comfort, his thoughts were idiotic – she wouldn't go against her family for him, Raylan maybe but not him. It didn't stop him from wanting her to, from wanting to know she was half as amazed at how well their pieces fit together as he was. And starin' at her then with half his thoughts tellin' him she was always lookin' for a new play, he felt his stomach turn. "I don't want to tonight," he said watching confusion furrow in her brows.

She sat several long moments seein' a look in his eye that hadn't been there 'least two weeks. "You don't look like you want me to stay anymore," she mused makin' him turn away as he reached for the bottle of bourbon. He didn't expect it, she'd given no sign to mindin' his drinking and so she took him by surprise snatching the bottle; and she knew he wouldn't let her do that again in the future. Without a word she took it to the kitchen and returned with a beer. "Don't look at me like that," she told him staring boldly at his dark face. "I've dealt with you drunk off your ass four times now and you apparently don't remember my extreme displeasure. So I'll tell you while you're still half-sober; go in the kitchen and I'll knock your ass out."

That should've made him laugh, the absurdity of her gettin' the upper hand on him; but he could see in the way she was sittin' with the beer still in hand if he moved she'd slam the bottle over his head. Instead of lookin' for a way to defend himself, instead of feelin' like she was makin' to attack, he slowly sat back dreadin' the answer to what he was about to ask. "The bruises on your arms aren't from your daddy, are they?"

She hadn't planned on tellin' him that, had planned to let him keep thinkin' her daddy held her too tight to give him reason to want Bo in prison; whether she realized it, she didn't wanna see the guilt now visible in the crease between his brows. "I'm a big girl, if I didn't wanna be here I wouldn't be," she told him offering him the beer.

He hesitated, almost expectin' her to flinch when he reached for it; seein' that might've broken something in him, that he'd managed to run off just about the only woman who'd been able to take his shit. But she didn't, she sat calmly as she'd done five minutes before; only now she was watchin' him closer. Then he was left with what to say, how to go about apologizin' for holdin' her too tight – and if he was right he had a feeling the bruises were from him holding her down. And what was worse was the thought of her layin' beneath him tryin' to pull herself from his grasp was familiar, as was the thought of her sighing before finally giving in. "I didn't mean," the nerve, and his voice, fled him before he could say 'to' and he was left staring at his blank T.V. screen wonderin' why she'd come back.

Her eyes rose to the ceiling and she grumbled, "oh my god Tim." She was exasperated, and uncomfortably touched by his guilt at knowin' he'd hurt her – she didn't know if anyone in her life, and most everybody hurt her in some way, had ever been sorry for it. That wasn't to say he'd actually hurt her, hell she'd enjoyed it – it was the restraining her arms she'd a problem with. She pushed his shoulders back against the couch and swung a leg around him to straddle his waist, forcin' him to look at her. "How's this," she said settling on his lap with her legs spread around him, "I go home and tell Boyd ya'll are comin' for him, or you take my clothes off and give me a reason not to."

There it was, the verbal proof she'd caught on; and yet there was the foundation of trust they had, that regardless of whatever he or she said it didn't leave his house. And she was leavin' it up to him to decide if she'd leave, goin' back to her family, or if she'd stay and they'd continue whatever it was they'd stupidly fallen into. "If you're hot enough I can give you more than one reason."

"I might hold you to that," she said smiling gently; knowin' him enough to see past his hard eyes and toneless voice – he was layin' in the bed he'd made, and she was joinin' him.

…

He woke to an empty bed. That fact alone wasn't unusual, he'd only woken to her still there one time – when she nursed his loss of their bet and she'd given him the answer about her daddy without any provocation – what had him sittin' up was that she should still be there. If she was gone she'd called Boyd to ruin their plan to raid Boyd's camp; and it would be his fault cause he'd tipped her off. And then he smelled bacon.

She was standing by the window over the sink, a small plate on the ledge that held the ashes from the cigarette she was now smoking; it almost made him smile to see she was consciously aware he didn't want his house smellin' like cigarettes, and he leaned against the doorway seeing the smoke she blew outta the opened window.

"Wondered when you'd wake," she said without turning, having seen the shape of him reflected on the window. She took a long drag before stubbing the half-smoked cigarette out and moving to the cast iron to take the bacon off the stove.

His brows rose when she bent down to take the pancakes she kept warm in the oven, realizin' she'd been up at least thirty minutes. He didn't comment on it, didn't say much after he got coffee and sat at the table watchin' her move around his kitchen. He waited til she'd fixed their plates, sat beside him, and passed the syrup before askin: "do you have a problem, bein' the first thing a person sees when they open their eyes?" He'd been wonderin' it for a few weeks, hell for the past month and a half.

The fork she'd been raisin' to her mouth paused midair as she turned to him, seeing nothin' but curiosity in his eyes. "Same problem I got with you kissin' me."

She'd said somethin' along those lines a handful of times, and she'd keep findin' ways so long as he kept forgettin; and with her pretty mouth he would keep tryin' til she either let him or gave him a reason not to.

"I'm makin' potato soup for dinner," she said after they'd eaten, havin' not said much for the remainder of breakfast, while she washed the dishes he brought her from the table. "If you don't mind my leavin' after noon I can see to the store, feed Mack, and be back by seven." She looked at where he stopped beside her, takin' the mugs from him before rinsing them. "Or I could leave you some, you decide when you wanna see me again."

He watched her curiously, followed the curve of her body as she bent to load the dishwasher. "You plannin' on makin' up your mind, at all?" he asked her, half amused and half wishin' she'd say what she wanted.

With a shrug she closed the dishwasher and wrapped the rest of the bacon for the soup. "I decide what we have for dinner, it's also been established I control the mood. Figured you might wanna say in somethin."

His eyes narrowed at her sly grin, a look he was growin' accustomed to – a look he enjoyed seein' cause she was sly as a fox and pretty as a picture. And occasionally that look told him what she was thinkin. "It ain't winnin' if I give you what you want."

"I don't remember sayin' what I want, that's your contribution to all this. Which could be considered enablin."  
She saw the look cross his eye moments fore he leaned forward, givin' her enough time to raise her hand to his mouth and bring his advance to a halt. And he was left with his mouth against the tips of her fingers staring at her daring eyes, it was no wonder he kept tryin' when she looked at him like that. This was normally the time he either stepped back or lowered her hand receding. But he caught her completely off guard when he stepped forward stealin' a kiss from her; granted her hand was keepin' their lips from meeting but it was all he was gonna get. And shit if he hadn't wrapped his hand round the back of her head and milked it for all it was worth, gettin' what he was after in her soft sigh.

"I'll see you at seven."

Wide eyed she stared after him as he grabbed his jacket and left, closing the door and lockin' it behind him without ever glancin' back at her. He left her with the worst kinda wantin; she didn't know what she wanted only that she wanted somethin' and she was only partially sure she wanted it – cause the rest of her wanted to curl up and hide. He had a habit of doin' that to her, makin' her wanna crawl out her skin and at the same damn time wantin' him inside her. And she was left thinkin' the same thing she always did; "son of a bitch."

…

Art, Raylan, and Detective Frank Choate had just released Boyd, the shepherd to this particular bullshit flock, and sat in Art's office to discuss what they'd do now since not a one had said a damn thing.

"I got another witness comin' in," Raylan said turning Art and the detective's eyes toward him curiously. "Just need her to get here."

Art's curiosity waned and realization dawned. "I hope you're not talkin' about Lyla Crowder."

Frank snorted. "That girl ain't tellin' you anything."

Raylan nodded at Art's exclamation that it's what he's been sayin' all along. "It's different this time, somethin's making her unhappy," Raylan explained, the very reason he was askin' her down. "She's also likely to be pissed at me, perhaps in her anger something'll slip out."

"Well I'm guessin' you're about to find out," Art said seein' her walk through the door.

Raylan looked over his shoulder to see Lyla talking to Rachel. "Don't say anything," Raylan told them both before he left the office to meet her. "It's alright Rachel, I asked her here. How are you Lyla Jo?"

She turned to Raylan with a look that spoke many words and none of them kind. "I was fine til six dumbasses decided to pile in my truck lookin' for a ride back to Harlan. How the hell are you?"

Despite himself Raylan smiled at her irritation. "I'd be better if you answered a few of questions," he said seein' the corner of her mouth twitch.

"Am I allowed to say I don't have time?" she asked already knowing the answer.

But Frank still piped up, even though Raylan had told him not to; "You don't have time to uphold the law now that your brother's blowin' up meth labs?"

Lyla's brows rose as Raylan's eyes closed in defeat. "Is he now? Well then, if I say Boyd is blowin' things up I'm not makin' a statement I'm just repeatin' him," she pointed at the state officer. "As for whether or not I have time, I gotta drive the worst passengers, gotta store to run, a drunk to take care of, and a family of idiots. Oh, and now I have to talk my daddy out of beatin' the shit outta me cause this dumbass," she pointed to Raylan who looked at her almost offended, "decided to call my daddy to force me to come down here. So no, I don't think I have a lot of time."

Raylan looked to Art, whose eyes had hardened knowin' the other man might've crossed the line. "Why don't I talk to her," Raylan said seein' Art's growing irritation though he took Frank back to his office.

Lyla took the chair Raylan got for her to sit opposite his desk. And she waited for him to settle fore she said, "you know I'mma yell at you no matter where we sit."

"Hoped you might feel disposed to keep your voice down," he said having prepared himself for her to be angry. "Though you did refer to me as a dumbass without any cause."

Her brow cocked dangerously. "That how you see it?" she asked wonderin' if he was so naïve, even Mr. Mullen had the mind to not involve her daddy. "I might, and that's a shaky might, be able to talk my daddy down but that's only if he lets me talk fore he starts swingin. You see, he's under the impression I was stayin' with Ava last night."

"I never said that," Raylan was quick to offer in his defense; in truth he hadn't thought much about it when he said she'd been in Lexington, but he'd never say she was with Ava that was settin' the gasoline on fire. "I know you were with Tim."

"Well I sure as hell wasn't about to make my daddy privy to that information." She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone before handin' it to Tim, who'd come around his desk with the intention of askin' her for it cause he knew enough that she wasn't comin' up at seven anymore. "And other than you who else is stayin' up here 'sides Ava. So I not only have to explain why I was with her, but also why you'd ever assume I'd tell you shit." She stared hard at him a moment fore adding, "dumbass."

Raylan watched Tim look at somethin' in her phone before he handed it back to her and returned to his desk, and then he looked back to Lyla to find her irate gaze still trained on his face. "I suppose I deserved that," he said not seein' her soften in the slightest. "You're not sayin' a word."

She rolled her eyes and rested an arm on his desk. "He is blowin' things up in the name of Jesus." As amused as Raylan was at her particular phrasing, she was just tired of everything – she was so wound up all the damn time, she only seemed able to relaxwith Tim and she was gonna ruin it. "I'll repeat myself 'case you gotta new answer; is your sole aim gettin' Boyd in prison or are you lookin' at my daddy too?"

He stilled at that, finally hearin' the intention behind her question – she wasn't lookin' to cover her daddy's ass, she wanted Raylan to broaden his case to include Bo. "Yes," he told her, giving her enough of an answer that Rachel and Tim – at the desks to his left and right – turned to him in consternated surprise.

And all three waited for her answer, cause she'd been askin' for a reason. She made them wait for it, cause she was goin' over in her mind whether or not she should answer – cause if her daddy got wind of what she said she'd've signed her death sentence. Yet her mouth opened. "Hunter Mosely."

"What?"

Lyla only shrugged lookin' just as confused as Raylan. "I didn't say anything."

Raylan watched her grab her bag and leave, his brows furrowed and his mouth pursed as he thought of what she meant – which he wouldn't find out til he joined Art and Frank and they realized they didn't know all of Bo's business, then Raylan would realize Lyla had told him who did – but at that moment in time watchin' her leave he turned to Tim. "Walk her to her car, see if you can't get anything outta her."

"Yes sir," Tim said, his tone so sarcastic it was almost biting; he had a bad feelin' about talking to her. Wheels were turnin' in her head and he didn't wanna know what she was thinking – especially since Raylan had contacted Lyla through her daddy. She was cornered, her words her biggest defense, and she'd say anything to keep everyone off her back.

"Hoped you wouldn't follow me," she said when he stood beside her waitin' for the elevator. She almost squared her shoulders, shuttin' herself off from Tim completely – not like it'd matter, he'd wanna kill her in the end no matter how ill prepared she was for it.

Tim stood with his arms crossed staring at the metal doors as the elevator began its climb. "I don't know what you're thinkin, you made damn sure I couldn't figure it out," that she didn't smile had dread swelling in him, "but don't do it."

He hadn't given her enough time to respond fore the elevator arrived and the doors opened, and she knew he wasn't comin' in with her. "I thought I made myself clear," she told him, "least where my daddy's concerned. So it's safe for me to say, if you find the two witnesses dead it wouldn't a been at the hand of Boyd." She was stopped from entering the elevator at Tim grabbin' her.

He dropped her arm soon as he realized he had her, but his resolve remained. "How d'you know about the witnesses?" he asked, knowin' he hadn't given any illusion to it and Raylan wasn't a complete idiot which meant either Boyd or her daddy.

"When my daddy called," she told him, furrowing his brow with how cold her tone was – something wasn't right, she was hidin' something from him. "He needed a reason why I's in contact with Raylan, and what better way to appease my daddy than tell him I was collectin' information. And since he don't know bout you I said everythin' was from Raylan, so it ain't fallin' back on you," she said forcing her accent thicker hoping maybe he'd catch on, but his face was only gettin' darker and she still wasn't done. "So when I told him Raylan asked, 'did you know Boyd threatened to blow up a meth lab,' he came to the same conclusion I did in one of 'em bein' a CI. And since it was really you who asked me that, you can't say nothin' without incriminatin' yourself. Which means my daddy's,"

"Stop talking!"

If a demon had been inside him his eyes couldn't've been blacker, his voice couldn't've been more terrifying in its rage; if he was a lesser man he might've said more, maybe even hit her. But he stepped out of the path of the doors lettin' them close before he composed himself outside the Marshals office and returned to his desk. Leaving Lyla disheartened as the elevator took her to the main floor, knowing if he'd let her finish – which means my daddy's in the clear – he would've known her words were backhanded. If he saw even a glimpse of the face she wore, almost lookin' like she'd cry, he would've known to trust her.

Instead he was fuming, and hatin' himself for letting her fool him cause he'd known better. And he prayed those body's weren't found cause he'd be the reason they were dead. What he didn't know is Lyla hadn't told her daddy yet, cause Bo had only passed along Raylan's message and then hung up fore she could say anything. She was hopin' to tell her daddy what she'd just told Tim, and maybe she'd make it through the rest of the day unscathed but knowin' she probably wouldn't.


	12. Chapter 12

At the sight of Lyla's truck parked on the curb, the remainder of Tim's shitty day sunk even lower. He grabbed the alcohol he bought on the way home, with the intention of gettin' shitfaced, and walked to his door – looking to his left to see she'd broken the screen again to climb through the window. He had a hand on his holster as he unlocked the door honestly not knowin' what to expect nor did he know what he planned to do. There was no way he was lettin' her stay, wasn't even a consideration in his mind, and he didn't know if he'd ever wanted to hit a woman as much as she'd made him.

She stood at the sink with her back to door, which should've been his first clue something was wrong cause she rarely didn't have the door in her sight. There was no smile, no cooking, she didn't even look at him. "I'd ask how the rest of your day was but I'm fairly certain you'd say somethin' 'long the lines of, 'it was fine til you showed up."

He wasn't in mind to pay attention to the strain in her voice, to take notice of the way she stood favoring one leg as she leaned heavily against the counter. His concerns lay in what her hands were doin' outta his line of sight, cause his hand still hovered over his weapon without an ounce of trust left for her. Care was a different story, cause the moment he saw the bloody rag she set on the edge of the sink he was at her side.

She turned her head when he tried to brush the hair out of her face, honestly not wanting anyone's hands on her.

"The door's behind you," he told her coldly.

She grit her teeth, an action she regretted at the throbbing in her head, and turned to him. She didn't care for the softening of his face at the dark bruise encasing her cheek or the blood on her shirt – she was unhappy in every sense of the word and most of it was aimed at herself, which meant she'd take it out on him.

A fact he knew, but at that time he was still livid. "What else?" he asked watchin' her brows draw together. "You didn't come here cause of your face. What else did he do?"

They were both pissed, at her, and they were both made pigheaded in that anger. It's what had Lyla turning to walk out the door, and it's what had Tim standing against the counter watching as she first had to catch herself on the fridge and then as she limped her way forward and leaned haphazardly again the doorway. "Tim," she quietly choked, her resolve evaporating as the world and her stomach turned. His own stubbornness waned when she next said, "I'm gonna throw up," and he rushed to grab the garbage can before she puked on his carpet.

It was followin' her with the trash can as she slid down the wall that made him see all the signs she was hurtin. And it was clear from the way she sat with an arm around her middle it was her ribs that were the problem. She was too busy tryin' to get her breathin' under control cause her ribs felt like a corset tied too tight and it hurt so damn bad she couldn't see straight, that she didn't notice Tim pulling up her shirt until he quietly muttered, "shit."

He didn't know what he'd expected, maybe a bruise here or there, purpled skin. But he'd never expect what he saw; he could clearly see her daddy's shoeprint where he'd kicked her over and over, her entire right side was one big stain of red and blue. It was amazin' she was able to move at all. Without askin' her permission, cause she'd say no, he grabbed her arms and gently pulled her to his feet – or he tried to be gentle, takin' the brunt of her weight in his hands, but he hadn't considered her father had kicked her leg too which made standing hard. "You gonna throw up again?" he asked seein' her face pale as she leaned against him.

"No," she said immediately, answerin' more that she didn't wanna throw up again cause it hurt somethin' fierce, but to whether she was actually gonna was a separate matter. "Maybe."

"You're cleanin' it up," he told her dryly, not knowin' why he was aiming to make her smile; maybe seein' what she'd been up against had him softening against his better judgment.

She did smile, briefly cause she breathed and breathin' had hurt since her daddy stopped kickin' her; and then she remembered Tim was mad at her, that she'd done the one thing to ensure he wouldn't look back. "I'm fine," she said pulling her arms out of his grasp, which was a mistake cause her chest and lungs and head all screamed not to move.

Tim watched her limp to his couch, her hands lookin' for something to lean against every step of the way, before she finally reached it and after several attempts of lowerin' herself she just sort of fell over. "I've seen several versions of fine, tried a few on myself," he walked around the couch and helped sit her up, not listenin' to her refusals. "You ain't fine."

"Neither are you," she shot back, now slumped on the couch which wasn't comfortable cause she was bent at the middle and somehow she could feel it in her chest. "I'm gonna lay down," she told Tim before he could try to keep her sittin' up. "You got all pissy in the elevator after I did everything to prove what came outta my mouth was bullshit 'sides connectin' the dots for you."

Tim knelt at the foot of the couch starin' at the left side of her face, which didn't have a mark on it, feelin' his annoyance returning. "Well I'm gonna need you to connect those dots."

She mistakenly sighed, though it was nothing more than a small exhale it made a fire ignite in her chest and she took a moment of shallow breathing to calm herself. "I started out sayin' I wanted my daddy in prison and I finished with you couldn't say nothin' which meant my daddy wouldn't go to prison. Now what kinda sense does that make less I'm tryin' to tell you somethin' ain't right?"

Whether he was still frustrated or if it's cause what she said was true, and of course the fact that he was starin' at proof things weren't black and white when it came to her and he was bordering on guilt. "And that makes me an asshole," he said irately, knowin' she was alluding to it.

Although she wasn't alluding, she was sayin' it outright. "Yes," she told him, not lookin' at him to see his brows raise in surprise. "I know what people think of me, like Mr. Mullen and," Lyla paused searchin' for a name, "the girl Marshal, she's got a real nice ass."

Tim knelt uncomfortably beside her knowin' who she was talking about. "Rachel," he offered, rollin' his eyes at her emphatic yes.

She was glad to have a name, that would'a bugged her for a while cause it'd been on the tip of her tongue. "What was I talkin' about again?" she asked turning to him.

He stared at her wonderin' if she'd hit her head, and then the thought of her daddy slappin' the shit outta her entered his mind and he swallowed before answering. "You know how people feel about you."

"Right," she said gettin' the thought back. "People think I'mma dirty criminal that's got no good in me, and that may be true but I didn't think you were one of 'em."

These were the things he hated, bein' in a relationship with someone and havin' to deal with their feelings and that he'd hurt them – cause he was realizin' she was right, from the moment he followed her to the elevator he knew there was more but he didn't give her a chance. And now there he was thinkin' of an apology he wasn't sure he wanted to make. Which was the very reason he limited himself to the relationships he kept up with, cause they were tiring and he found he wasn't much good at them anymore.  
As if she knew where his thoughts had gone Lyla turned to him. "Don't say anything, I get sensitive and emotional when I'm drunk. Be glad I used my tears on the drive over," she told him, makin' his brow twitch. "I didn't realize how many bumps were on the way."

Tim laughed at the absurdity of what she'd said, and not just her perfect timing but by the fact he was now seein' she was wasted. And he was seein, again, why he liked her so much – everything was easier. He was still furious she'd used his words against him, but seeing her hurtin' he certainly didn't blame her for comin' up with a way to make Bo's assault cease. He understood and he was angry with her, and he was able to be both without havin' to sacrifice either one. "I'm sure you figured out I was dry as a well."

"First thing I looked for when I broke in."

"So you admit to committin' a felony," he said making her laugh, though her face paled and she stopped breathing as she rolled toward him.

"I'm gonna throw up again."

He stared at her a moment before that registered and he lunged for the trash can, and then he sat holdin' her hair back as she struggled through heaving. She was almost shaking when she finally laid back, sweat beading on her brow as she took short shallow breaths. "I may not be much of a genius but I'm guessin' you're not goin' to a hospital."

If she could just get one deep breath without feelin' like her ribs would fall apart she thought she might be okay, at least for a few more hours. "I know a guy who'll get me somethin' stronger than advil. Hey do you have some, I had to take Mack's away when he overdosed."

Tim's eyes widened, wipin' her sweat on his pants, missin' the part about the illegal drugs. "You haven't taken anything?" He stood when she shook her head, taking the trashbag with him to put in the dumpster. "You're provin' to be exhausting," he said helping her sit up enough to swallow the pills with the glass of bourbon he poured for her; which was a horrible mistake cause she was already pretty close to shitfaced or she wouldn't've said half of what she did.

"If you think dealin' with me's tirin' you should try bein' me, don't think you could get outta bed. Could I have another?" she asked handing him the empty glass, which he snorted before refilling and takin' a swig himself. "Don't get me wrong, you probably have the worst history 'tween the two of us, but my particular shit takes time getting' used to."

"How much time?" he asked wonderin' if he was gonna get some kinda truth out of her, and whether or not he wanted it – cause there was a certain darkness to her he didn't wanna mess with.

"Well," she said thinking of a timeframe, "it's twelve years later and I'm tryin' to get my daddy back in prison. I'll get back to ya." Even wasted she tried readin' him, and while his face was a bit fuzzy she could see the interest in his eye and the smug in his grin. And fore he could say anything she said; "you're thinkin' you're gonna get all my secrets, find out what kinda person I really am. But I want you to take a minute and consider all the things you've noticed that point to my bein' a very screwed up individual."

He knew what she was saying, that she was tellin' him he didn't wanna know – and before today he probably would've told her to stop. But Raylan had forced her hand and she'd messed up everything, now he needed something. Before he could respond she raised a finger to his mouth to shush him, only she was drunk and she shushed his cheek. "Lyla," he said holdin' her hand. "You were what fourteen, fifteen and your daddy did something." He waited for her to do more than blink, like talk, but she remained lying on the couch with her head turned toward him. "What?" he asked seein' she wouldn't say it on her own.

"I'll hate you if you pity me," she warned him, wishing she could slap his arm when he rolled his eyes but talking was starting to hurt too. "I never wanted to suck anyone's dick." She watched his face freeze, watched the pieces of her puzzle start fittin' together as pity began swirling in his eyes, and she turned away from him suddenly tired. "I already hate you."

"Lyla," he said shaking her hand, trying not to shake anything else cause he knew it'd hurt her. "Ly-" he sighed lettin' her sleep, it was probably the most comfortable she'd be for a few days. Then he was left with the reason why she wouldn't let him kiss her, why she was always so tense in a crowd, why her behavior was so familiar to him – and he didn't want it.

Taking another, long, drink he set her hand down and noticed the bruise around the collar of her shirt below her left shoulder. He had an idea what'd happened: she'd gone home and Bo had slapped her right cheek hard enough her body had turned and her left shoulder struck the corner of the counter – Tim could see where it'd broken the skin – and then Bo started kicking her and she'd probably tried crawlin' away at some point which explained the scratches on her hip from where he'd dragged her back, and then he'd grabbed her hair which Tim was now seein' the few scratches peekin' out from her hairline. And then she said somethin' to make Bo stop, for him to let her go.  
Raylan hadn't just left her to take a beating, with her words she'd fought for her life. And with nothin' else to do, since she'd passed out drunk, he raised the bottle to his mouth planning on followin' her lead.

…

Lyla woke to Tim nudging her face, just about the only thing he could hit lightly over and over without hurtin' her more, though he kept sayin' hey and while it didn't hurt it was annoying as shit. "Shut up," she grumbled.

"You shut up," he said drawin' out the sh.

"Nice comeback," she said and he made a face as he knelt beside her, though he was close to as drunk as she was and he just about fell on top of her.

He sat beside her head trying to hold himself up against the couch, feeling the world spinning and regrettin' that he had to leave; and that she was hurt cause he wouldn't mind layin' with her beside him. "Sorry," he mumbled against her shoulder.

"I hate you," she said now feelin' exactly where she hurt.

"Wouldn't be here if you did."

She stopped herself from sighing and instead bent her arm at the elbow to find his face - if she'd been able to she might've hit him, but movin' the lower part of her arm was about all the moving she could do without pulling on her torso so she settled for just touchin' his face. "I was thinkin,"

"A dangerous pastime."

"you can't say anything when you find those hostages,"

"Witnesses," he corrected as he lifted his head to look at her, wonderin' what she was goin' on about.

"Whatever. When you get any evidence against my daddy you can tell Mr. Mullen I said somethin' that made you think he was the one who killed them 'stead of Boyd. And then I can come in, sign a statement, and you can add that to my daddy's charge," she said soundin' proud of herself, even though she'd caused the problem. "But you gotta have somethin' on my daddy first, cause I ain't sayin' shit while he's free."

He sat starin' at her almost impressed at the way her mind worked, cause he knew she'd been thinkin' this in the elevator - only provin' her point more that she hadn't meant it. Granted those two witnesses were probably dead, by either daddy or brother, but he was drunk enough that he didn't really mind. He'd think differently when he was sober but at that point in time he almost felt like smilin. "You'd really sign a statement?"

"Yeah," she told him almost shrugging fore she caught herself. "May even collaborate with the charges you already have on him. I'll strike a deal with the Mexican lawyer, you know the handsome one with the turtle chin?"

Tim thought confusedly for a moment, thinkin' of all the lawyers he'd come across. "You know AUSA Vasquez?"

"He's the one that always tells me the benefit of deals, and threatens some charge that'll never stick cause there's no evidence. Anyways, I'll make a deal with him that they can't use anything my daddy says against me."

He sat realizing she had everything mapped out, that she'd gone over every action and reaction til it worked in her benefit. "You're brilliant," he said findin' that a very attractive attribute, at least at the drunken moment.

She smiled proudly. "That's not said enough." She would've laughed at Tim rolling his eyes, almost did before she remembered how much it'd hurt. "Why'd you wake me up again?"

He realized he hadn't said why, that he had to go; a shame cause he really just wanted to lay down with her and sleep. "I got called out," he said using the couch to climb to his feet, jostling her battered body. "Get over it," he mumbled at her grit-teethed swearing, lookin' for his shoes. "I'll go to the store on my way back, get somethin' to wrap your ribs." He looked at her after he pulled on his shoes, waitin' for some kinda response like a thank you; but she'd fallen back into a fitful sleep and he sighed before draping a blanket over her and lockin' the door behind him.

...

When morning came she was gone before Tim woke. Not that either of them were surprised, hurt or not she was still the same - only now she had a massive hangover that had her head feelin' like it'd split open, which did a good job drownin' the ache of her sides. What was surprising is that she'd been able to leave, cause she almost gave up sittin' up on her own before she finally grit her teeth and tore herself open. At least it felt like it.

And she sat bouncin' in her truck as she drove back to Harlan, wearing the rib belt Tim had brought when he'd come back, and not wearin' her shoes cause there was no way in hell she was bendin' down.

Come seven she was in her kitchen makin' breakfast, still two hours away from getting her painkillers and still surprised that it'd gone over Tim's head – she expected him to fixate on it, but he'd been more concerned over the fact she hadn't taken anything. If she didn't hurt so bad she might've smiled at the memory but her jaw was almost locked from how hard she ground her teeth, and sweat gathered on her brow and upper lip from the fact she wasn't fully breathing. And she kept digging the tip of a knife into her arm lookin' for a pain that wasn't from her ribs. She was miserable as she cooked sausage and pancakes and eggs, and now bleeding, and still hungover. And yet it got worse.

"Morning darlin," Bo said smiling at the sight of her in the kitchen, kissing her bruised cheek roughly. "How're you feelin?"

Lyla unhinged her jaw and answered; "Fine. I'm goin' to the store when I'm done, if you don't mind."

"Well you gotta work," her daddy said knowin' she'd spend most of the day on her feet, which is why they both knew he expected it. "I'll be sendin' Johnny with you to see you got everything you need." He turned to his nephew in question and firmly told him, "I may stop by, don't let me catch you helpin' her. We clear?"

Johnny quickly said yes sir, knowing Bo was doin' everything to keep her hurtin' but Lyla was too damn stubborn for her own good cause she didn't respond; she thought she was bein' tough, that she was stronger than anything her daddy could throw her way. But Bo dug his fingers in the place he'd kicked her hardest, earning a chocked gasp from Lyla as tears flooded her eyes. "I'm thinking ribs for dinner, and those delicious mashed potatoes you make; the ones you gotta mash yourself. And I'm wantin'some cake for desert and use the beater, you know the one that shakes ya all over." He kissed her cheek again fore lettin' her go, proudly watching her stand without quivering; least not in his sight. She was by far the strongest willed of his children, unfortunate for her cause he pushed her hardest. "You best not burn anything."

Soon as Bo left the kitchen Johnny quickly moved to her side before her legs gave out. If it weren't for her broken ribs he'd've thought she was hyperventilatin' from how quick and shallow she gasped. He stood with her shaking against him as he stirred the eggs and turned the sausage, her chest fluttering against his own as she tried to keep quiet. He looked down at her once expecting to see tears streaming down her face; and there were a few that'd escaped to show she'd been in a world of pain. But mostly it was just murder that shined in her eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

Lyla had just laid down after taking another Vicodin planning to sleep painlessly for the remainder of the night when her phone rang. "Answer the damn phone," Mack yelled from the couch. She groaned before climbin' outta bed to get it. "D'you arrest anyone?" she asked as a means of hello.

"No," Raylan answered, checkin' on Ava who lay passed out in the backseat.

"Kill anyone?"

"Nope."

"Then why are you callin?" she asked laying back down and pullin' the covers over her.

Raylan scoffed not knowin' if she was angry or intoxicated. "Hello to you too, Lyla Jo. How are you?"

It was the simplicity of his hello that had her opening her eyes and payin' attention. "I'm guessin' Tim told you somethin." She heard his faint breath of a laugh and rolled her eyes. "Figures, you'd'a been an asshole otherwise."

"I'm gonna let that go this time," he told her, smiling at her quiet 'how generous' before he asked again, "how are you?"

"Well, I feel like I could take on the whole world and I also feel real tired."

"Are you on something?"

She laughed lightly, soundin' more a giggle, which hurt – a lot actually – but somethin' in her mind was sayin' who the hell cares you feel great. "Maybe."

Raylan couldn't help but laugh at the teasin' in her voice, now knowing she was high as a kite. Something he was hoping would work in his favor. "I learned somethin' interesting today," he was glad to hear her sarcastic 'is that so' cause at least she was awake. "Were you aware that Bowman ran your daddy's business while Bo was in prison?" It was one thing for Ava to leave that particular bit of information out but for Lyla, who'd loved him more than she ever loved Bowman, to not mention it at least once in the handful of times she'd pulled his chain.

Lyla laid in the bed unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth. "Oh," she said almost startling as her phone suddenly vibrated in her hand. "Tim's callin. What'd you ask again?"

Raylan should've rolled his eyes at her forgettin' what he'd asked, should've been suspicious she was pullin' one over on him by acting high; but he paused at the warmth he heard in her voice at Tim's name. "Does he do that often?" Raylan asked, curious as to what their relationship was like.

"Only when we're decidin' on when I'm comin' over, usually we talk about it fore we go to bed. He's probably just worried, I was in real bad shape last night."

His brows rose at what she'd said, reading between the lines to see somethin' she might not've realized herself. "I'm surprised at you, Lyla Jo, didn't think you had it in you to fall in love."

She snorted. "I am not doin' that, Raylan Givens, I don't want it. Now what'd you want I'm bout to hang up."

"Alright," he said refrainin' from teasing her, "what part of Bo's business were you aware of while he was in prison?"

"None of it," she answered not needin' to see him to know he was rolling his eyes. "My daddy told me to keep my nose outta everything, with him locked away he couldn't protect me. Wasn't it your daddy who took over? God I hate that man."

He smiled softly at hearin' her say that; she was Bo's daughter therefore Arlo treated her good as her daddy expected, her dislike stemmed from how much she liked Raylan. "That's all I wanted," he told her, finding himself strangely touched at hearing she was still his little Lyla Jo. "Call Tim, pretend not to be in love with him."

"Hat wearin' asshole," she muttered, hanging up to the sound of him laughing. It wasn't until then, the call now ended, that she realized she was supposed to be angry; that her pain and need for Vicodin was all his fault. But she was so wound, and tired, when she remembered to be angry that thought had already left her.

She almost decided not to call Tim back, almost decided to just go to sleep like she was supposed to. But it was Thursday and at some point it'd become a thing that she came up that day. Without realizing it she'd almost been anticipating seein' him, and what she'd been feelin' in the pit of her stomach since seven was disappointment.

"Hello?"

If she hadn't been drugged she might've teased him for acting like he didn't know it was her, that he hadn't just called a few minutes ago. "Hey," she greeted. "Guess you figured out I'm not comin' tonight."

"Just checkin' on you," he said refusing to admit anything more, to either her or himself.

She smiled at his cool tone, at the unfeeling he tried to force when his calling was evidence to the contrary. "So you're not mad at me anymore?"

"I didn't say that," he answered running a hand along his chin. "Did you take it easy today?"

She laid contently with a hand draped over her middle holding the covers and the other cradling the phone to her ear. "No, not really. I was on my feet at the store most'a the day. I also mashed some potatoes and used a beater to make cake."

Tim sat on his couch, game controller in his lap, and a deep crease in his brow. "Why the hell would you do that?" The second day might've been worse than the first, at least when it came to broken ribs cause they certainly were more than just bruised, and yet her entire day had been spent to make sure she stayed hurtin'.

"You 'member few days ago I said I didn't know where me and my daddy stood; well now I do and we ain't in a good place. And since he's gonna be outta town tomorrow he's got a guy on me to make sure I don't take it easy."

He didn't know whether he should smile, considering she hadn't really answered his question and that her daddy was still punishing her, but a grin tugged the corner of his mouth. "Do you know how to lose someone tailin' you?"

"Yeah," she answered not in the frame of mind to ponder what he was asking, "I've been doin' it for years. Got real good at spottin' 'em too."

Tim waited for her to get what he was sayin or to at least ask what he meant. "Lyla," he said hearing her sleepy 'hmm', "I'll see you tomorrow." Again he waited for her to say something in response and again she said nothing. "Lyla?" he asked now thinking she'd fallen asleep.

She was layin' in bed with a big silly grin on her face. "Alright, I'll shake him after I feed Mack."

"What are you smilin' about?" he asked finding something curious in the sound of her voice.

She laughed faintly as she imagined the brief look of panic that'd cross his face if she told him what she was thinking. "You'd freeze up on me if I told you." She'd come to know when it was time to stop teasing, which things in particular not to rib him about – him unconsciously admitting he liked her when he asked her to come over – she wouldn't mention it cause he'd shut down with the realization she was right. So instead she smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He could hear in her voice she was grinning, that slyer than a fox grin that usually had him takin' her clothes off cause it kept him from thinkin' of what she was implying. "Stop smilin' and go to sleep."

…

_1x12_

Instead of Johnny watching her the next day, Lyla had Hestler with his greasy hair and potbelly; who also hated her for givin' his name eight years ago puttin' him in prison. He knocked things over, kicked them across the store, and all around heckled her through most of the day; enjoying her pained face each time she was forced to bend over to clean up his mess, and all the while he held onto her painkillers.

"Hey Lyla," Hestler cooed. "Clean up on aisle four."

She rolled her eyes before painfully climbing down from the stool Jimmy set behind the counter, shooing his hands away as he tried to help her - or maybe stop her cause he was just about ready to shoot Hestler, which would not go over well with her daddy. "Keep workin," she told him firmly before she stumbled her way to where Hestler stood with an stupid grin on his ugly face. "I remember a time you used to love me," she said sitting on her knees as she picked up the cans. "Did I outgrow your taste?"

He smiled down at her, having had an eye for her since she got into high school – hell middle school. Shame she'd been ten years younger than him, her daddy would'a shot him if he'd tried anything. But she was a big girl now, and her daddy in a different state. "If you hadn't ratted me out I still would. I'd probably even help ya out."

She knew what he was suggesting, it was easily read from his starving eyes; then again he had been locked up for eight years, he'd've taken anyone. And she hurt so bad she was instigatin' it. "Against my daddy's wishes?" she asked softly, forcin' a smile and pretending like his answer was somethin' grand cause no one had ever done anything like it.

And it worked cause his smile grew and he reached a hand to her face. She resisted the urge, or rather the reflex, to pull away from the feel of him touchin' her. "I can think of a way you can apologize," he said running his thumb over her mouth.

"Now I know you're not insinuatin' any sort of sexual act with my sister," Boyd said seein' the loathing Hestler didn't recognize in her eyes.

A smile twitched on her mouth as Hestler took a step back at the sight of Boyd and the two followers that stood behind him. "This is business between me and Bo," Hestler said not seein' an ounce of relenting from the men standing behind Lyla.

"Well," Boyd said with a smile as he moved to help his sister to her feet, "if you wanna inform him of your impure intentions, be my guest." He turned his back completely on the man to face his sister, raising a gentle hand to her bruised cheek. "Go behind the counter baby."

Without lookin' back Lyla walked her way to where the register, and Jimmy, was and the two looked at each other before turning back to the front of the store wondering what'd happen next. If this had happened before Boyd found God there'd be screamin' and threatenin' and Hestler would be dragged out by his disgusting hair and the shit beat outta him behind the store. But Boyd had God and she and Jimmy could barely hear them.

And then Hestler and Boyd's followers were leaving the store and Boyd was comin' around to the back. "My boy's are gonna stay with you the rest of the day and see you make it outta Harlan tonight. Jimmy, son, do you mind if I speak to my sister alone?" he asked turning to the blonde boy Lyla had gone to high school with.

She rolled her eyes at Jimmy's quick yes, seeing he still looked at her brother like he was a superhero. A relieved smile spread on her face when Boyd pulled her bottle of pills out of his pocket and she didn't even wait for something to drink before swallowin' one. "Daddy's gonna be pissed, he should be back in a few hours."

"Addin' another thing to the list," Boyd said sharing a small laugh with her. This wasn't the first time their daddy had broken her ribs, he knew she was hurtin. He placed a hand over hers staring hard in her eyes. "Cousin Johnny has made me aware you've been spending a copious amount of time with a Marshal who is not Raylan Givens, and while I do not condone your sexual impurity for as it says in the Bible,"  
"Yes, as it says in Corinthians and Hebrews and Romans and Matthew and Thessalons and Eph- Ephalations. That's not right," she trailed off.

"My dear I believe you mean Ephesians," he corrected lightly, smiling at her quiet 'that's it' before he continued. "Regardless how I feel of the way you conduct yourself, though I do wish you would wait for marriage as the good Lord commands, it truly warms my heart to see you have found someone that's got you thinkin' of courtin."

"We're not doin' that," Lyla said wide eyed and uncomfortable, mirroring the look Tim would've worn had he heard what Boyd said.

He saw the truth behind her refusal and it made him grin. "Be that as it may, I would like you to stay outta Harlan." His words had her brows drawing together in worry, and most of it aimed toward him. "Baby I am doin' as the Lord commands, I have found my path, and it has been brought to my attention that I, I have forsaken my God-given duty as your brother. I fear we have reached a standpoint you cannot talk your way out of."

"Boyd," she said cuttin' him off. "Someone's about to check out, I need you to talk faster or simplify."

His mouth pursed in irritation, a look she was very used to, but he took a breath and apparently filled himself with Christ before nodding in agreement. "I won't have daddy punishing you for the work the Lord is doin' through me, and baby that punishment would be most severe. Now the Lord spoke to me," he waited for the roll of her eyes, which not rolling them might've been one of the hardest thing she'd done, "and it is clear your refuge is with the Marshals. I'm not sure if He meant your new beau or our own Raylan Givens, but I should warn you if you do go to Raylan you cannot come back."

She nodded trying to work her way through the talk of God to find out what he was really saying. "You're not gonna tell me what you're doin' are you?" she asked, sighing when he shook his head. "Well, I'm gonna see my," she swallowed unhappily, "beau, and daddy's expectin' me tomorrow. I'll see where his head's at and if I feel like trouble's brewing I'll go to Raylan and tell him what's up."

Boyd smiled before kissing her hand. "You have answered my prayers."

"Oh stop actin' like you think of me that often," she said feigning fluster, hoping to stop his 'god-given' spiel before he started. "Since you're so close to God and all, could you tell him I'm not done with you yet."

His smile split wide over his face. "I have no intention of leavin' you baby. Though I am goin' back to our camp."

She laughed before holding a hand to her side. "Oh there's the Vicodin," she said no longer carin' she hurt; which was the best feeling, til it wore off.

"Jimmy," Boyd called turning to find the young man standing at the head of an aisle looking like he was ready to be called into action. "You take real good care of my sister now."

Lyla rolled her eyes at Jimmy's emphatic yes sir, and she gave Boyd a small wave as he left the store before turning to the boy she'd grown up with. "Who was is it again you dated when we were seventeen, me or my brother?" She chuckled warmly at the tightlipped look he gave her, and after a moment he caved and smiled like he always did when it came to her.

"Glad someone's feelin' better," Jimmy muttered climbing behind the counter to help her back onto the stool, knowin' she was good at hiding how much she was hurting.

"Thanks," she said ungratefully, not one to take help lightly. She looked up at him to see him watching Boyd talking to his two goons. "Boyd's thought of recruitin' you for many a year, well, til he found God now it's all about redemption from sin by committin' more sin."

Jimmy stared down at her with a furious expression on his face; an expression she couldn't take seriously with his little mohawk. "Are you shittin' me Lyla?"

She grinned up at him seein' the hard look in his eye melt. "Said I'd shove my shotgun so far up his ass he'd choke on it." She raised a shoulder with nonchalance. "He took Devil from me he ain't takin' you too."

"Aw," Jimmy said ruffling her wild hair making her wrinkle her nose. "Didn't realize you liked me as much as Devil."

She held up a finger prepared to correct him, not missing that he was now fine with her bein' the reason Boyd wouldn't recruit him. "Devil never tried to rob the store."

"I put the gun down soon as I saw you," Jimmy quickly defended using the same argument he always did.

With a smile she kissed his cheek. "Well I'm glad you tried to rob me, I like you workin' here I can count on you. That other one you came with, the deadbeat that keeps comin' to the store stealin' food, you can keep him."

"Jud's my best friend," Jimmy argued.

"He's a moron."

"He likes you."

"A moron with good taste is still a moron," she told him unrelenting before turning to the old woman slowly making her way to the register. "Hey Ms. Della, how are you this afternoon?"

…

It was pushing closer to eight by the time Lyla pulled up to Tim's house, Mack having needed more care than usual, and she was finding she was more tired than hungry. But she carried the bag of fried chicken knowing they'd eat and talk a bit and do something on the T.V. and she'd probably fall asleep and he'd either sleep with her on the couch or carry her to the bed.

"You look better than you have any right," Tim said when he opened the door for her; and other than the bruise on her cheek, now darker, she only looked tired.

She stepped into his house hearing him locking the door behind her before he took the bag of food from her and motioned for her to sit down. "This might be a stupid question, but do you have beer?"

He stopped a moment to find the humor in her insinuatin' he always had beer before saying, "Sit, I'll get it."

"No it's fine, I got it."

He watched her walk to the kitchen, not needing to lean against anything but her steps by no mean were steady; she was thinking through the movement of her feet. "Alright," he said seein' she was being an 'independent woman' and he knew better than to mess with that.

She grabbed her beer, making a pit stop at the cupboard he kept the real alcohol in to take a rather large sip of Jim Beam, before returning to the living room to find him on the couch with her green beans. "You wanted mashed potatoes."

"Like a normal person when they eat fried chicken," he responded watching her watch him take a bite, enjoying the way she frowned.

She sat on her couch cushion to find he was sittin' closer than he normally did, as a matter of fact he was sittin' right next to her on the middle cushion. "Well I wanted green beans."

"They are good," he said eatin' another forkful.

"Don't eat 'em all," she said almost laughing she took the container from him. "Hey," she said when he stole another bite, and if it weren't for his smile she might've done more than laugh. "What're we watchin' this time?" she asked, him having decided she needed to see all of the movies she was missing; and she didn't enjoy the movies half as much as she enjoyed his impassioned reactions to her not liking them.

"After careful deliberation," he said grabbing the remote, "considering you've got the worst taste in movies."

She turned to him pretending to be offended when they both knew she didn't really like movies. "Only cause you're showin' me the stupid ones."

"E.T. is a beloved classic," he said still not over her hating that one. "As is Forrest Gump."

"I liked some parts of Forrest Gump I just, didn't like most of it," she said seein' his disbelief. And with a roll of her eyes she said, "I liked Top Gun, and The Princess Bride. Oh and Sandlot, that's my favorite so far. And then there was the last one we watched," she paused trying to think of the name before she gave up, "the one where his wife's killed leavin' him to raise their son and then the son gets kidnapped and the dad goes on this big adventure to save him." She waited for Tim to tell her the title cause she never remembered it and he was good at guessin' but he kept staring at her confusedly waiting for more. "Did I mention they were fish?"

He stared at her several moments, at her beautiful and sometimes questionably ridiculous face, before a laugh escaped on an exhale. "Okay," he said leaving it there, knowing if he continued he'd try to kiss her. "Homeward Bound, talking animals, you'll love it," he told her knowing she preferred children's movies. "We're watchin' Aliens next time you're over."

"Another alien movie," she nearly whined, having hated all of them so far.

He grabbed the blanket folded behind the couch and draped it over her lap, knowing it could be sweltering and she liked to sit covered up. "It's got the hot red-head from Avatar," he tempted, turning to find her contemplating it.

"She does make a stupid movie worth watching."

That was normally the time he paused to stare at her, stunned by her casual admittance of her attraction to women, except his mind stuck on her calling the movie stupid. "You're not allowed to talk anymore," he said makin' her laugh.

"They were giant blue cat people, it was dumb. Wha-" she was silenced by Tim pushing her forkful of green beans in her mouth and shushing her. With a smile she extended the other half of the covers over his lap and settled back with her box of chicken and beer, suddenly realizing this was a date. And all the nights before that had been as well. She turned to him seeing he was calmly eating as he forwarded through the previews, completely unaware.


	14. Chapter 14

The house was quiet as they slept, still and warm. The refrigerator's hum was low and muffled behind the bedroom door, the wind sighed, the heater clicked as it turned on. Lyla laid on her side with her head tucked under Tim's chin, an arm slung over his waist, eyes reluctantly opening as a foreign sound rang through their peace.

"Is that my phone?" She felt his hum vibrate against the top of her head and she sighed deeply at his arm slipping from around her shoulders.

Tim watched her roll over and sit up, hearing her release a breath as she held a hand to the side she'd laid on. "Told you you'd regret it," he said pushing her the rest of the way up before he moved to grab her pants off the floor to hand her the phone; _Ava_ "You sure that's a good idea?" he asked knowin' it wasn't, not when Bo wanted her dead.

Without regard to his warning, or her unhappiness at the prospect of leaving, she answered with a quiet hello.

Tim lay beside where she sat unable to make out the faint murmuring of Ava's voice. There were several things he didn't like about the current situation; that Lyla was probably gonna leave, cause while he knew she'd hurt he enjoyed the hell outta feelin' her against him. And then there was the overwhelming need to take the phone from her and hang up, knowin' she was digging herself into a bigger hole by helping Ava Crowder.

"Wouldn't call him mine, but yeah I'm with him," Lyla answered, hearing Ava's disheartened apology for ruinin' their night. "We were sleepin' you didn't ruin anything. Where are you?"

With a sigh Tim rolled off the bed and grabbed Lyla's pants. While he missed the sight, and feel, of her long legs he couldn't deny how well her ass filled a pair of sweatpants.

Lyla looked after him as he left the room, wonderin' what he was doing. "D'you really think I'd be at Mike's bar at midnight?" she asked Ava.

"I don't know," Ava said pitifully. "I certainly didn't expect to see Raylan's ex-wife leavin' his room."

Lyla sat not knowing how to respond to that. "I'm sorry," she said lamely with a shrug. She looked up to see Tim walking back around the bed with her shoes; they were technically slippers, and normally she wouldn't be caught dead outside the house in black slip ons and sweatpants and no bra but gettin' dressed proved difficult. "Give me ten minutes, you can follow me to Mack's house," she said, barely hearing Ava's words of thanks as Tim stared up at her from where he knelt on the floor. "Am I allowed to say I don't wanna go?" she asked after hanging up.

"Only if you're gonna stay," he answered knowin' she cared about Ava too much to leave her hanging. So he climbed to his feet and walked her to the door. "Drive safe, don't take another pill til your home."

She leaned against the doorframe looking at him feigning irritation. "Want me to call when I get there, so you know I'm safe?"

His smile was small as he gave a brief nod. "You're just not worth wakin' up at three in the morning," he said in return making her laugh.

She was reluctant in leaving, slowly stepping into the cool night air as Tim stood in the doorway seein' she got to her car. It was the strength of the pull she felt to go back to his bed that spurred her on, stealing her smile, quickening her pace fore she changed her mind; it was unnerving how used to him she was, how comfortable he made her. And she didn't like it, not a bit. She lit a cigarette to calm her shaken nerves, her first since her ribs were broken, and though it hurt like hell to breathe in she sighed at the relief of the nicotine feelin' herself unwind as she drove in the silent night.

She pulled into the parking lot of the bar and idled beside Ava, who sat lovely and sad in Bowman's old truck. "You sure you're alright?" she asked seein' Ava's reddened eyes.

"You sure you don't like your Marshal?" Ava asked in turn, neither woman wantin' to admit what the other knew.

Lyla shrugged throwing the remainder of her cig out of the window, watching the orange glow of the ashes before they burned out. "Guess I gotta try harder not to," she said with a wry grin, tryin' to fool herself into thinkin' it was that easy or that she had any control over it.  
And with that she drove away, waitin' at the edge of the street for Ava to put her truck in drive and follow after. She kept her window down enjoyin' the biting breeze as it ruffled her hair and pierced her skin, enough cold to keep her awake for the next two and a half hours; the cold was also good to clear her mind, whisper sense in her ear. With her daddy alive and free there weren't a chance of gettin' attached to Tim - it was damn near a miracle she'd kept her daddy from killin' Jimmy all these years, and if Boyd hadn't taken Devil he'd surely be dead. Her daddy hated anything, 'specially anyone, who took his girl from him. Lord if he'd seen her tonight.  
By the time she pulled into Mack's driveway she was in the mind to stay away from Lexington, she'd talk her daddy back round her finger, stay away from Tim and Raylan and Boyd and Ava, she'd be the good girl he expected outta her; no one would die cause of her, 'least Tim wouldn't cause he was the only one in danger of that, and her daddy wouldn't hurt her again cause she'd be safely tucked away in his pocket.

"That's your thinkin' face," Ava said when she climbed out of the truck to see Lyla in the moonlight, her dark brows drawn together her full mouth frowning. "It's okay to like him," Ava tried assurin' her, having seen a similar look when she'd broken things off with Jimmy, and every time she rebuffed Devil's advances. Only Ava hadn't heard half the warmth in Lyla's voice with those boys as she had tonight over the phone, Lyla was quite fond of the Marshal.

But Lyla shook her head as she walked to the door, seein' a familiar truck parked across the street with a man inside who was on the phone with her daddy. She didn't think the night could've gotten worse. "As long as my daddy's here it ain't okay. It's a dangerous thing to be the object of my affection."

Several minutes later the two girls lay side by side in the bedroom bathed in the glow of the television through the open door, hearing the sound of a sitcom's laughing track and Mack occasionally give a wet cough. Lyla laid in the quiet feeling like she'd made a mistake leavin' Tim to bring Ava here. Boyd was plannin' something big enough he wanted Lyla outta Harlan, Raylan had stupidly told her daddy they were on speakin' terms, and now Lyla was helpin' Ava behind her daddy's back. Her life was a powder keg and time was a match. And somethin' was bound to blow in her face.

…

At seven thirty Bo woke to find a plate made, a casserole with eggs and ham and cheese, a cup of coffee and a note sayin' she'd gone to work early and took the rest of the casserole with her. Lyla had made the casserole at Mack's, fed Ava and herself, taken some to Bo and made it to the store by seven to set the pan in the heated display case. And for the next hour she answered, 'how much for the casserole' with it's on the house, or smiled as someone who'd been comin' there for years exclaimed that it'd been awhile since last she served her food. By eight the large pan was empty and she set it in the back to take home after work, checking her watch so often it seemed time had decided to slow just to spite her.

But ten finally came around and she left Jimmy, who'd insisted on bein' there everyday to make sure no one bothered her, to man the store while she stepped out back with a cigarette impatiently waitin' for her phone to ring. "Tell me you're still gettin' out next week," she said forgoin' hello.

Devil smiled as he leaned against the wall glad to hear her voice. "You still gonna pick me up or you gonna leave me like you did last weekend? You know I waited the whole damn day for 'em to call my name." He had half a mind to be pissed she hadn't visited, but she'd answered the phone soundin' all sorts of desperate.

"You'll get why I didn't come when you see me," she told him taking a small drag on her cig. "_If_ you see me. Lord knows Boyd's doin' everything he can to get me killed; literally, the lord. I swear I'm the only who got any sense in this family."

"Yeah I was with him when he started that preachin' shit, guess he's still on it," he said though it wasn't Boyd on his mind. "How bad are things?"

She shrugged out of habit, taking a deeper drag not carin' that it made her chest tight. "I'll put it this way, I'm considering goin' to Raylan for protection."

"Shit, the cowboy Marshal," he muttered as he thought of what all that meant. "You gotta have a plan if you go to him, and not you wingin' it. Your daddy ain't takin' you back, it'll be his head or yours."

"I know," she told him with a heavy sigh, wondering when her life had come to this. She stood and walked around the building, smartly bein' paranoid her daddy had someone on her - there wasn't anyone there, but it still made her nervous. "I'll keep bein' subtle maybe something'll stick. My Marshal told me they got their sights set on him and a plan's in place."

"That's real vague," Devil said knowin' she was choosing her words carefully in case anyone happened to be listening.

With a smile she dropped the cigarette and crushed it under the toe of her boot. "He might've been breakin' the law tellin' me that much." She sighed at thought of Tim, having successfully shoved all inkling of him far in the back of her mind outta reach; now there he was front and center. "Tell me I'm an idiot."

Without pause Devil replied; "you're an idiot for thinkin' of falling for him." It was the god honest truth, and he graciously left out the rest of it - the Marshal wouldn't let himself fall for her, the cloth he was cut from was too good. And she knew that, Devil heard it in her voice. "Babe I know you want more. He ain't all that's out there."

She stood quietly holding the phone to her ear wishin' things were different, wishin' she hadn't been so foolish with Tim. "That was real deep," she said hearing the breath of his laugh and also knowing his mouth quickly fell in a straight line cause he was serious, and she now feelin' pressure swell behind her eyes. "Well I won't waste anymore of your minutes," she said as though she didn't know he paid only to call her. "And I miss you greatly, Derek Lennox." With that she hung up, not having the energy to deal with feeling anything else. She cleared her throat squared her shoulders and walked back into the store to finish for the day before goin' home to make dinner.

…

Bo left Johnny's bar with the specific intent on talkin' to his daughter, who he was comin' precariously close to bein' suspicious of. Her cooking didn't soften him, her pretty smile and her kiss to his cheek did nothin' for him; she could fool the devil if need be, make him believe what he knew to be true was a lie. "How many times have I told you to stay away from that girl?" he demanded quietly as he stood against the counter, seein' the moment her spine stiffened. "For the life of me I can't understand why you insist on disobeyin' me."

"She needed a place to stay, daddy. That's all." Her voice died in her throat when he raised his hand to silence her, hating more than anything his silent rage and she was seein' now he was so very angry.

With a rueful smile he shook his head. "Darlin, I wish I could believe you," he told her carving regret into his voice to drive home the words he'd say; she'd long past the time to talk her way back to good graces. "But you've done just about everything in your power to make it so I can't. Boyd ain't gonna save you, Ava don't understand the hot water she's put you in, and Raylan is usin' you to get me and your brother behind bars. For twenty-six years I've been protectin' you, and you tossed me aside for people who don't love you as I do. You know how this ends," he told her with a serious morbidity. "Baby you know everything I've done, you know I can't let you walk away. Not when you'd use my transgressions to your own benefit."

She stared up at him finding it hard to catch her breath, knowing he was gonna leave her a choice. The problem wasn't her loyalty, she'd been fakin' it for thirteen years. The problem was Boyd; he wasn't in the right mind to see everything he did fell back on her. And she knew he was planning something big, big enough he suggested goin' to Raylan. She could convince her daddy she was wholeheartedly his but the moment Boyd's planned came through her daddy would be back at her throat; there was no way for her to win. She wasn't talkin' her way outta this.

He stepped closer reaching his hands to cup her face, seeing her flinch in the way she blinked; he hated when she was afraid of him, she used to think the world of him, but it was the only thing that worked with her. "You got til tomorrow night to convince me I can trust you, or to get yourself outta Harlan. Now, what's for dinner?"

…

Raylan returned to his motel tired and upset. He was not only workin' with his daddy but he'd ruined any chance he had with Ava and she'd sent him on his way without a kind word. He wanted a drink and he wanted to go to bed, and yet the day just kept dragging on. "How are you, Lyla Jo?" he sighed sittin' beside her on the curb outside his room.

She looked at the bottle in his hand before turning her eyes to his. "Bout as good as you seem to be doin."

He gave a bitter smile before taking a long swig and passing it, knowing exactly how they looked sittin in the dark past eleven drinkin' bourbon from the bottle. "Is that my fault?" he asked brushing his hand against her bruised cheek.

"So's this," she said pulling the left sleeve of her shirt back to show him the scabbed bruise on her shoulder. "And my ribs but I don't feel like goin' there right now."

With a nod he took the bottle back, grimacing as he swallowed. "I see why Tim was so short with me a few days ago. I don't know if you've realized, but he's grown quite fond of you."

She stared at the stars for several quiet moments, watching their twinkling dance feeling so temporary. "I don't see that sticking," she said causing him to turn to her with brows furrowed in wondering.

"Don't sell yourself short," Raylan told her brushing the hair out of her face. "You're still a good kid."

Her mouth might've smiled but her eyes were heavily weighted by a painful truth. "You were the only one who ever thought that," she told him solemnly, watching him look away as he took another drink. "I'm a liar, a manipulator, a murderer," she watched him nearly wince, "tell me those aren't the reasons you want Boyd in prison." She waited for him to deny it, he turned to her like he wanted to but he shook his head and looked away. "I know what I'm worth, Raylan. You and Tim'll both see it."

"Why are you tellin' me this?" he asked finally speaking. "What in god's name could you possibly be hoping to get out of it? You have to know I'm now gonna start lookin' for evidence against you."

"Stop actin' like this was unexpected," she said raising her voice to match his.

"How is this my fault?" he asked hearing blame in her voice.

She laughed bitterly. "It ain't a surprise, Raylan. You knew exactly what life I was bein' raised into."

He took a drink as she spoke and before he replied he took another, and it was clouding his now aching head. "I can assure you I haven't the slightest idea what you're talkin' about."

Several moments she stared at him seein' the anger and stubbornness in his eye. "You left me," she yelled, her voice ripping through the otherwise quiet night leaving them both stunned. At the sight of his pained face she took the bottle from him and drank like she'd gone days without water.

She was right, he didn't like admitting that but she was right. He knew twenty years ago what he was leavin' her to, knew it enough he'd considered goin' back for her; but he kept driving. She was now angry and hateful, all mostly at herself. And that's why she ruined every good thing that came her way. He'd left her to become him. "What d'you want?" He might've given her anything in that moment, but she shrugged suddenly feelin' so exhausted.

"I don't want this particular life but there ain't nothin' you can do about it now," she said watchin' him nod in understanding. "Guess I just wanna place to stay. My daddy kicked me outta Harlan."

"Is it that bad?" he asked knowin' it had to be if she wasn't allowed back home, or that she'd come to him.

"He knows my only loyalty's to Boyd," she said and Raylan nodded knowin' that was true. "He also knows the only person in the world who'd make me question that loyalty is you." The corner of her mouth curled at the height his brows rose to. "And then you decided to tell him we were on speakin' terms, so now I'm not only bein' blamed for Boyd's actions I'm takin' the fall for yours as well."

He sat uncomfortably staring at the gravel with her being right, again. He hadn't given much thought to puttin' her danger; hadn't honestly thought it'd come to that, she was Bo's favorite. Raylan hadn't considered that bein' the problem, any betrayal from Lyla was the absolute worst and Bo had made sure to hurt her as much she'd hurt him. With a sigh Raylan stood pullin' her up with him, standing with a hand around her back staring down at her pretty face. "One foot wrong and I'll be buildin' a file on you too," he warned watchin' a wry smile curl on her mouth.

"My daddy don't want me anymore, I got no need for trouble."

He appraised her serious face looking for any sign her words had a double edge, that she was tryin' to fool him in some way. And whether Art was right in his bein' blind when it came to her or he simply believed she was sincere, he nodded and said; "Come on, I won't make you sleep outside."

She followed him into the room, brushed his hands away when he tried to see the damage 'neath her shirt, and convinced him to lay next to her on the bed rather than on the floor. She wasn't off the hook, it wouldn't be that easy. She was smart enough to know Raylan would be watchin' her closer now, depending of course on her daddy bein' dealt with fore he killed her.

* * *

_So I'm almost done with season 1, this was the end of episode 12 and now I'm onto the finale. It took longer than I'd anticipated to flesh Lyla out and show her preexisting relationships as well as her new ones, which I hope didn't drag on as much as I felt like it did. I'm hoping season 2 doesn't take as much time, I have it mapped out by episode and she won't be in all of them, and there's really only a few scenes that' take a whole chapter to enact - but most of it will probably be her and Tim getting to the point of 'where is this going, and do I want it to go there.' I'll also be delving into Tim's PTSD a bit, so if anyone has suggestions about how they think he would be (since the show's given us next to nothing) I'd be much obliged for the advice._


	15. Chapter 15

_1x13_

The next morning Raylan stepped out of Art's office and motioned for Tim to follow him out to the hall. "I need Lyla to stay with you for the night," Raylan said when they'd stopped by the elevators. "I'll have a place for her by tomorrow," Raylan assured before Tim could object.

"What's the catch?"

Raylan looked around them for eavesdroppers before sighing. "It's strictly personal," he said seein' realization dawn in Tim's eyes as he shook his head now knowing what was being asked of him. "With Boyd blowin' up Bo's shipment he'll be lookin' to kill. The less people know she's with you the safer she'll be."

Tim laughed bitterly. "Besides of course she's not sayin' shit."

"Yeah," Raylan agreed running a hand over his face, "besides that." If Lyla would tell them anything they could take her under Marshal protection and actually get her somewhere safe, but Lyla's lips were sealed and without any provocation the Marshal's couldn't help. "If anything happens to her while she's at your house,"

"it falls back on me," Tim finished having known that since 'personal.' He should refuse, especially if she was in as much danger as it appeared she was; yet that was the reason why he agreed. "You tell Art?"

"He was not happy," Raylan admitted. "Needed more convincing than you too. But he wants you to escort her home now to make sure no one's following her," he said and Tim nodded as he thought. "She got a call from her cousin this morning, kinda shut down on me after that."

Tim's brows furrowed as he pondered that. "Is she bein' difficult?"

"Like pullin' teeth," Raylan replied. "Couldn't even get her to tell me what she wanted for breakfast, just kept starin' out the window."

With a nod Tim pressed the button for the elevator. "Why isn't she stayin' with you?"

"Her daddy knows about me," Raylan answered simply. "And now I gotta go call mine."

Tim smiled at Raylan's lack of enthusiasm, not likin' his daddy any more than Lyla's.  
He found her sitting on a bench in the lobby, looking for the first time how she should've; ragged and in pain. There were dark circles under her eyes to match her bruised cheek, her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, she was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans without any makeup; didn't look like she'd bothered with today, resigning herself to a fate she knew was coming. It's why he'd asked if she was being difficult, she was scared. "You look smaller without all that hair." It took her a moment to look up at him, for her mind to recognize she was being spoken to and that she needed to respond. There was no such thing as beautiful pain, there was no beauty in her face, no loveliness in her piercing eyes; she was utterly exhausted.

"My head feels smaller," she replied quietly, her voice lacking the energy to give life to her tone. He sat beside her brows drawn together and frowning so concerned, so sweet. She moved away fore he could touch her, seein' the resignation on his face as he sat back. "For what it's worth I don't think he'll kill me," she told him. "Don't get me wrong the intention'll be there, but when it comes time I don't think he would. I look too much like momma, that's the only reason why I ended up the favorite 'stead of Bowman. Boyd though," she gave a short breathy laugh thinkin' of their history, turning to include Tim in the joke but she never actually looked at him, "he keeps pushin' and daddy won't have a choice. Or daddy'll get himself killed. That's it, Boyd dies daddy dies," she weighed her two options on either hand staring at her palms like they might have the solution. "I'm not seein' a way for me to win."

That's when he realized what she was saying, that there were two ways for it to end and she didn't like either of 'em. He tried again touching her, just to rest a hand on her leg to feel she was there, for her to feel he was there. But before his touch could land she was off the bench and standing in front of him.

"You wanna get coffee?"

He looked up at her immensely unhappy face and sighed. Difficult. "I'm only to see you to my house. I still have to work." As understanding as he was to her tactic of unfeeling he couldn't help his irritation when she turned and headed for the door, not giving sign she knew he'd spoken at all. And he sighed, again, as he stood to follow.

She didn't speak until he was by her side at the front doors; "Station wagon across the street's been followin' us since we left the motel." She turned to see his eyes trained on the car she mentioned and waited til he looked at her fore askin' again; "you wanna get coffee?"

…

Tim stayed close the whole drive, not likin' what he saw behind him; she had two shadows, three if Tim was included. He was glad when she waited in her car for him to get her, for him to position himself in front of her as they walked into the diner she'd driven to - Lyla knew he was uncomfortable, he was threatened and was now in the mindset of an army ranger. She gave him what he wanted cause he'd be very unhappy when she told what she'd planned.

She sat them in a booth beside the window, a blonde young man with a mohawk at her back. Tim would've grabbed her arm and moved her if she hadn't looked up at him and shaken her head. Instead he forced himself to sit across from her waitin' for what she'd say.

"This is Jimmy. We're gonna switch clothes in the bathroom, he's gonna leave in my car and you're gonna follow him like he's me. I'll sit here watchin' to see if my daddy put a second car on me. And when that happens I'll take his car and go to your house. So gimme your key."

Without question Tim pulled his keys out and took his house key off to hand to her. "You've done this before," he said finding himself rather impressed, and incredibly turned on cause it was a damn good plan.

She gave a curt nod before her eyes dropped and her head slightly turned toward the young man behind her. "Lay low for a few days, stay away from the store." Tim heard Jimmy mutter something under his breath and Lyla either understood it or took it as carelessness cause she quickly said, "I mean it Jimmy. Soon as he knows I got away he'll start lookin' at you."

"And you sucked too many dicks in exchange for him not killin' me. You don't want me dead, got it."

With that he headed for the restrooms at the back of the diner, and Tim watched Lyla roll her eyes exasperated. Her gaze settled on Tim to find his face blank as ever but his eyes told a different tale; he'd admitted once, in the sparest of words and even then she filled in most of the blanks, that he found it undeniably attractive seein' the way she thought through a situation. It was a shame he had to go back to work, a shame with her ribs broken they wouldn't be havin' sex for several weeks more; and oh the sex they would'a had. "Leave when he comes back," she told him before walking to the back and slipping into the restroom Jimmy had taken.

After several minutes Lyla sat by the window wearing Jimmy's jeans and button up watching as he, donning her black sweats and grey sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, got in her car and drove away: Tim in his black SUV followin' behind him. As soon as he was on the road he pulled out his phone, not liking that she was on her own but she'd answered his question of what she'd do if someone got to her by showing him the gun she had tucked in the waistband of Jimmy's pants – since Jimmy had her purse. She'd been taking care of herself long before she met him, Tim had to remind himself of that. "The second car's green," he told her when she answered.

She smiled as she looked out the window. "An old dodge?"

"That's the one," he answered. "How far are you wantin' me to follow him?"

Starin' hard out the window she waited til the car passed the diner and turned the corner followin' after the first. "Give me a five minute head start," she said smiling up at the waitress who set down her coffee to go. Lyla left a ten on the table as she made for Jimmy's car, hating the smell of it as soon as she opened the door – it was the smell of leftover food and guy, which is kind of what Tim's house smelled like except it was a bit cleaner. "I suppose I should say thanks."

"As a person concerned with being decent would," he replied looking between the cars behind him and the one in front of him.

"Yeah," she sighed, both knowing she had no concerns of that, "if I'd known this was Raylan's plan I'd've shown up at your house last night."

"Why didn't you?"

She shrugged, taking a turn where the boys hadn't. "Figured it'd make a bigger statement to my current plight. You don't have to follow him anymore."

Tim was quiet as he did a u-turn; out of his rearview mirror he watched the station wagon pull the same turn, now talking animatedly on the phone to the man in the dodge who continued after Jimmy. "It's been a while since you played me," he said wondering what looked crossed her face.

It wasn't a happy one. "Would you be lettin' me go alone if I said I didn't know whether he'd kill me?" She didn't expect him to answer nor did he, they both knew it was no. "If it means anything, I wasn't happy lyin' to you."

It shouldn't've meant anything, in fact he should've been pissed cause he was putting his neck on the line to keep her safe; but he realized part of her behavior from earlier had been that unhappiness. So he wasn't mad, irritated and frowning but not mad. "I'm tellin' Art on you," he warned her. "You'll be getting a very stern lecture the next time you see him, but he'll let me off early since you're provin' so very well how scared you are."

She shook her head pressing her lips together knowin' he'd have seen it – of course he would've he rarely took his eyes off her. "Well I do try," she said blandly. "Am I makin' dinner?"

"If you can find anything in the fridge," he said hearin' her laugh cause he rarely had anything of substance. "I'll pick something up. Keep the blinds open, don't make it look like someone's home."

This was usually when she told him she already knew that, to never close the blinds cause it gave the sense something was bein' hidden. But she was currently drivin' on her own and he was letting her, so she resigned herself to tellin' him, "alright, I'll make sure to leave 'em open." She sat through several other instructions from him, like leavin' the lights off and if she wanted to watch somethin' than use his computer and stay in the bedroom rather than the living room with the bright television; yes Tim, she told him, that's a good idea I didn't think of it, she said. She knew everything he was tellin' her, she'd hidden from her daddy and his enemies several times before, but she agreed and told Tim of course and she'd see him when he got off. If he wasn't so protective and sweet she might've gotten annoyed, but she found it endearing how obliviously he admitted to caring.

She parked three houses down, waving at the middle aged woman Tim lived next to, on the chance Johnny told her daddy where she was; her life was in her cousin's hands and she didn't trust him. Her daddy could be a terrifying man; black-eyed rage, tongue sharpened with vile and cruelty, his hands made into weapons. Johnny was a weak man, Bo'd harden his eyes and Johnny would sing. It was there in the back of her mind as she occupied herself with one of his books or the computer, tried not to snoop since Tim would notice if she moved anything important; it was only a matter of time fore Bo turned his eyes on Johnny and then found his way up to Lexington.

And sure enough a few hours later she got a call from her cousin. "Lyla I am so sorry. He demanded to know where you were and if I'd had any choice I wouldn't've told him, but after what he did to Boyd and his church – you need to run. Lyla, you need to leave Kentucky and just start over. He-he's not gonna let you talk. You can't talk him down this time, he'll kill you for always choosin,"

"It's fine," she said interrupting him. And when he started sayin' but, she said again, "It's fine." And she hung up.

With a numb, shell-shocked, mind she unlocked the front door before sittin' at the kitchen table, resigning herself to the fate she'd woken up dreading. He was either gonna kill her or she was gonna live. The longer she drew it out the more people would die; first Mack then Jimmy, then Devil, then Tim, maybe Raylan, and most certainly Ava. So she sat at Tim's table and she waited numb to the passage of the time she watched ticking away.

Lyla heard his car pull up and her shoulders drew in as her spine straightened knowin' it wasn't Tim - this wasn't the sound of him pullin' into his driveway, it was the sound of a car stopping at the curb. Then she saw him through the window, with his ratty grey beard and his large stomach. "Hey daddy," she greeted softly when he opened the door, keeping her spot at the table. He didn't say a word as he closed the door behind him and pulled the blinds shut, didn't take his eyes off her either. "I'd say I hadn't the slightest idea what Boyd was gonna do, or what the Marshal's are plannin' - Raylan in particular. But that's not why you're here."

"No darlin' it's not," he said pulling a chair out to sit across from her, his dark eyes heavy and serious and as cold as her own. He made a show of looking around the kitchen and then turning to see the living room. "Your boyfriend's gotta nice place. I smelled you the second I walked in, d'you realize that?" He knew from that fact alone, that he could smell her lotion and smoke and a faint hint of flowers, that she stayed here often; that this Marshal meant something to her. Without remorse he pulled a wedding ring out of his pocket and set it on the table knowing she'd recognize the celtic knots engraved in it.

And she did. As she'd known he went after Mack first. "That wasn't necessary," she said not knowing if the ache in her stomach was from Mack bein' dead or cause her daddy knew it was useless to care if she'd forgive him.

"Yeah it was," he told her with a solemn nod. "You've made yourself very clear, Lyla Joanne. Boyd, Ava, this new Marshal, that beaner lawyer you always have a bit of information for - you put all of 'em above me. And you put Raylan before all of them; lord knows you idolized him. And that boy don't even know it. But me? How long's it been since you lost your loyalty to me?"

She was quiet as she stared at him, feeling a tremor laced in her spine at his realizing the truth. "You know," she breathed, heat gathering behind her eyes.

He nodded as he stood, moving around the table to her side forcing her to tilt her head back to look up at him – exposing her neck. "I do," he said knowin' as much as he'd needed her help eleven years ago he never should've asked it of her. "You made your point, darlin" he felt her take a shivering breath at his hand wrapping around the base of her throat. "Now I gotta make mine."

…

Tim pulled into his driveway knowing something was wrong soon as he saw the blinds closed. There was an oil stain by the curb a good five feet from where Lyla always parked her truck, the blinds were closed, and the front door was ajar – everything was wrong. With his gun drawn he pushed the door the rest of the way open, seein' Lyla on the kitchen floor. He didn't go to her immediately, he cleared first the back rooms before the kitchen, and when he was satisfied there were no other persons in his home he holstered his weapon and knelt beside where she lay unconscious.

The first thing he noticed were the reddening bruises on her neck, and a heavy breath left him with a whoosh at the feel of her pulse. He could imagine the shit storm had she died in his house, not officially under Marshal protection – a double-edged scenario cause she hadn't given them any information to warrant protection, but her death would be used as evidence to prove the Marshal's Service had been negligent and were responsible. Staring down at her closed eyes and the hand that rested over her chest where it'd fallen from Bo's arm when she lost consciousness, it almost surprised him how easily he thought of her having almost died – like it wouldn't've effected him. As if the tightness in his chest as he tried to shake her awake didn't prove the exact opposite.

Her mind began where it had left, panicked, and she woke gasping for air trying to shove the hands that held her down away so she could breathe.

"Lyla," Tim said grabbing her arm before she hit him. "Lyla stop. Look at me. Look at me!" He felt her still when she finally saw it was him, her chest fluttered with her shallow breathing but she stopped struggling.  
What he saw in her eyes fore she turned away wasn't relief; he saw her recognize him and felt her calm, but where relief and hope should've been all he saw was resignation. As if life to her was as inconvenient as it was inevitable.

And that was exactly what she was thinking, realizing of course she still had to go on; nothing had ever come easy to her why would death be any different. She lay on her back feelin' her sides aching from how she'd twisted her body, feeling his leg against her hip and his eyes full of pity as he stared down at her seein' she was okay; how she hated that look. "Guess I was right," she said hoarsely, feelin' like she was swallowing a knot in her throat that wouldn't go away, "when it came time he couldn't do it."

Tim gave a short breath of a laugh at the absurdity of it all; at her brushing off how close she'd come to dyin, at him brushin' it off as well, at both their refusal to admit something was growing between them. It was in the way he sat on his knees forcing himself to believe it was only a Marshal's interest in her bein' alive, and it was in the way she lay refusing to look at him. And neither of them was willing to see it. "You wanna sit up?" he asked her quietly.

Before she nodded she regretted it. Her head was killin' her, drumming so loud she was certain he could hear it. And it only got worse when he helped her up, but still she waved a hand shooin' him off her as she leaned her back against the oven; head hurtin' so bad she couldn't see strait. "Now what?" she asked not knowin' what he was gonna do.

He didn't know. If she'd tell him it was Bo who attacked her then they'd go after him for assault, and probably find somethin' else on him – but she wasn't chancin' it and the moment she asked she'd shake her head and look away. His capability rested in the testimony she was too smart to give. So instead of answerin' he asked; "You alright?"

Her eyes narrowed as though to better see him, which didn't quite work. "Am I answerin' you or Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson? Cause to the Marshal I ain't sayin' jack shit."

"And to me?"

She looked at him a moment fore answering, glad to see something 'sides pity in his stare even if it was close to offended. "I'd say it's rare I admit to bein' anything but fine. And rarer still is when I am."  
She didn't know how long they sat there just starin' at each other, didn't know what he was thinkin' if he was thinkin' anything; after a while she'd stopped and just sat there lookin' over every feature of his face. Til she started feelin' the passing of time and it pulled at her makin' her want something to happen. "So now what?" she asked again.

He wouldn't've called their silence peaceful. It was heavy, separating, and blissful. He didn't know how long he could've gone without ever sayin' a word, but her mind was a bit more cluttered at the moment and she was lookin' for a distraction. "Now," he said pulling himself to his feet, "I call Raylan."


	16. Chapter 16

"How is she?" Raylan asked when he answered, knowing Tim wouldn't call unless something happened.

Tim sighed looking to Lyla, who'd climbed to her feet and now stood with his bourbon. And he wondered, briefly, if she drank more often than he did. "Oh you know, just as peachy as ever," he answered dryly.

"She tell you how Bo found her?"

"D'you really think she told me it was Bo?"

Raylan smiled at his wry tone. "I see she's still bein' difficult," he said in understanding. She had one chance to pull the trigger and if she didn't want Bo comin' after her then it needed to stick. Where they were at now with the investigation she'd only be shootin' herself.

Which was more or less what Tim was thinking. "He did try to kill her, a different man might show leniency."

Raylan nearly laughed at the realization that it'd scared Tim, that he cared enough about her to be concerned. "A man with less personal interest," he added, hearin' Tim snort. "Mind if I talk to her?"

"Why I didn't just have her call you," he muttered. She looked at him with hard unhappy eyes before handin' him the bottle and taking the phone.

"How's your day been goin, Raylan?"

A crease deepened on his brow at the hoarseness of her voice, soundin' almost like she had a cold. "I'd say it's better than yours if I wasn't havin' to deal with Arlo."

"I don't know why, your daddy's a hoot," she said taking the bottle back from Tim and quenching her thirst, seein' his brows raise at what Raylan had told her – knowing she was too smart to not figure it out.

A bitter grin tugged at the corner of Raylan's mouth but he didn't wanna talk about Arlo, even if it did fill him with pride to hear someone else hated him too. "Bo didn't happen to tell you where he's headed by any chance, did he?"

"'fraid he decided to choke me instead."

"Oh, how was that?" he asked as though it were an ordinary occurrence, as if he wasn't feelin' guilty for the part he played in gettin' her hurt.

"Well my throat's sore," she answered hearing him chuckle. "I'd advise you to use caution in thinkin' your daddy actually turned."

He considered her words before replying, "a thought I had considered. It's good to see you're still sharp as ever."

She smiled. "I believe that's why Mr. Mullen never thinks it's good to see me." She handed Tim the bottle noticing this time when he didn't take a drink, and she watched him return it to the cupboard before moving to the window.

"He's not particularly fond of you," Raylan agreed. "Though David Vasquez seems smitten; he had several not unkind things to say about you."

"Yet not quite kind," she said knowing the lawyer would never admit to liking her – especially when she was entirely inappropriate with him. Tim didn't realize it but 'the other guy' she should've gone with was actually the Mexican lawyer – a man she liked enough to give information but not enough to consider fallin' for. "If you hear where my daddy is would you mind callin?"

"Is he at the window?" Raylan asked smiling when she grumbled a yes. "Give him a break, you worried him."

She sighed already knowing that. "Where are you sending me tomorrow?"

Tim stood at the window keeping the front door and her in his line of sight. "Drawer to the left," he answered when she asked if he had a notepad. He took his phone when she handed it to him, not realizin' how amicable she and Raylan were; he'd never seen her with Boyd but he thought she would've sounded as comfortable with him as she had just then with Raylan.

"Have you met his ex-wife?" she asked sittin' on the couch pulling the blanket over her lap.

"Winona?" he asked wondering why Raylan was sending Lyla to her. He turned back to the window when she nodded. "I'll reserve my opinion til after you meet her."

She settled back comfortably almost wishing he'd sit beside her. "D'you want me to turn the T.V. on?"

"If you wanna watch something."

"Anything in particular you wanna listen to?" she asked with an almost irritable sigh regretting that Raylan decided to send her here. Not that she minded Tim's company, in fact he calmed her. But he was wound and she was somewhere between wound and having given up and she really just wanted to sleep, which wouldn't happen if he sat poised and tense by the window.

Only he didn't stay by the window, nor did he answer her, he moved to the kitchen to check his backyard and then to the bedroom window before goin' back to the living room. And so went the next hour, Tim monitoring his perimeter – a hand falling to his hip with every car that passed - and Lyla laying on the couch trying to take a nap. He knew he was pissin' her off every time he stopped by the couch to see she was breathing; he didn't really care, wasn't in the mind for it. It wasn't just that his house, his place of security, had been compromised it was also that his companion had been hurt in his home on his watch. Everything was wrong. There was no calm, there was no settling, he was now on guard as though someone was comin' for her – which she'd tried to tell him to let it go, her daddy was done for now, but that wasn't happening.

"You wanna tell me whose ring that is?" he asked after the seventh time he cycled from the kitchen to the bedroom to the front room – that was another reason she was gettin' pissy, he kept tryin' to talk even though he knew she was trying to sleep.

In that moment she learned it was possible to roll her eyes while they were closed, but a wry smile curled on her mouth. "My husband's."

"What?" he asked finding himself at her side fore he could think past the word 'husband.' Not that it should be a surprise, she was twenty-six in a town where most girls were married outta high school. Except of course for the fact he didn't want her to be married, which was a thought he'd just arrived at when she laughed.

"You're too cute for me," she chuckled, her arms wrapped around her middle holding the blanket, looking pretty cute herself.

But he didn't notice, he couldn't even think of something to say besides; "you don't have a husband?" that's how much he needed to know the answer.

She smiled faintly again, more outta amusement than victory. "No, but that got you over here fast." She laughed quietly at the roll of his eyes as he moved back to the window – now staying there cause he was embarrassed. He really was too cute sometimes.

He let her fall asleep then, tired of passing the couch to see her eyes opening to look up at him and feeling heat gather in his face. He didn't know how long she slept only that the sun was starting to go down when she finally sat up to see him still by the window. "Sit down," she told him, the pillow now in her lap as she stared groggily at where he stood. She rolled her eyes at his sigh as he continued watching the couple walkin' their dog. "How bout five minutes, that okay?"

He turned then to see her hair a curled mess as it always was, and the look in her eye that said she wasn't askin. "Five minutes," he agreed as he sat on the far left cushion. She surprised him by throwing the pillow on his lap and layin' her head down, her legs curled and the blanket now barely covering her legs. "You're gonna regret this," he told her, knowing when she sat up the muscles around her ribs would.

"Oh I already regret the shit outta this," she told him, and she most certainly did as she lay with her sides throbbing - but she'd taken a Vicodin and a sleeping pill and she was about to pass the hell out which meant Tim wouldn't move.

And he didn't, 'least at first. He felt her fall back asleep, her entire body went limp with unconsciousness and he was left with little more to do than fix the blanket over her as he watched the window from the couch. Her calm settled him, stilled him, and he sat back with a hand in her hair almost thinking of turning the T.V. on. Then headlights streaked through the window and his gun was in hand and he was poised to stand if the car stopped anywhere near his house, only it continued on three houses before the faint sound of a garage had him sitting back almost breathless.

He had to move. Somehow having her against him, feeling her, set him off. She'd been in his house, he'd gotten off work early to see she was safe, and she almost died. He should've known on sight she was scared or at least when she'd admitted to lying about not knowing if Bo would hurt her should've had him going home with her – she'd been his to protect and he hadn't.

It wasn't enough going window to window, he actually went outside and even then there was a slight tremor in his hands. He was having a full blown episode with her in his house, he couldn't even go in and face her; and she was passed out. Almost three months and he'd only lost it twice in front of her cause of people sitting in their cars in a parking lot, or at least the two he counted cause he didn't think she noticed the others.

In hindsight it was foolish of him to think she hadn't, she seemed to notice everything. And so it was no real surprise when he circled the house, for an embarrassingly high number of times, when he found her sitting on his front step with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. "Surprised you made it out here," he said when he stopped in front of her, seeing just how not awake she was in the way she forced her eyes open

"I considered lettin' you continue workin' yourself up. Didn't think it was fair." She lifted her head long enough to see the crease in his brow that'd been there since he got home, and out of drugged exhaustion she let her eyes fall to the ground.

He almost thought of smiling, three minutes tops and he was sure she'd be back asleep. "You should go back inside."

She shook her head and held out a hand. "Help me up."

He did as told and pulled her to her feet. But instead of going toward the house, which she'd locked, she walked to his car and sat in the passenger's seat. She wouldn't get out, drugged or not she was stubborn enough to get what she wanted. And so he rolled his eyes before climbing in after her, finding the keys already in the ignition. "Anywhere in particular you wanted to go?" he asked pulling the seatbelt around her, since her arms were inside the blanket.

Her head lulled to the side so she could look at him, not liking his tone – like he was goin' outta his way to service her. "I'm doin' this for you don't be an asshole," she told him before leaning the seat back. "I haven't heard the car start yet."

His first thought was, god she's a bitch; which wasn't fair. And it proved he was bein' an asshole cause she really was doin' this for him. "How'd you figure it out?"

It took her several moments to understand what he was talking about, long enough she'd started fallin' asleep before he shook her still lookin' for an answer. "You go for a drive when you can't sleep or you had a nightmare; how do I know, I'm usually awake when you leave. Now," she said not wanting to say more, nor did he really wanna hear it, "turn the car on and drive however long it takes for you to calm the hell down cause I am too incapacitated to handle your shit."

Before she could start up again he turned the car on and pulled outta his driveway. He'd have to remember to ask her how often he woke her up – cause there was no way she hadn't mentioned it if she knew how many times a week he actually woke up in the middle of the night. And yet it was entirely possible; she had the habit of surprising him with things she'd noticed. Cause it was now obvious to him she knew he was having an episode, and instead of high-tailing it as he expected she was sittin' in his car waitin' for him to calm down on his own – even that was a sign she'd taken more notice than he realized, cause she wasn't openly trying to comfort him and she sure as hell didn't wanna talk about it. She was giving him exactly what he wanted, and she was doin' it high as shit.  
He drove aimlessly without thought, driving just to be on the road with his window rolled down even though the air was biting. He'd taken his jacket off and wrapped it around her already bundled body, and she'd passed out cold cause she didn't move at his touch – and she was normally the lightest sleeper, if he accidently brushed against her when he rolled over it often woke her up. Yet he was able to sit with a hand resting on her leg, enjoying the quiet of the night and the rush of the cold wind, and honestly enjoying the feel of her beside him. He thought her bein' there would ruin the peace he always found in driving late at night; that her presence would disrupt the calm, but she only added to it. It wasn't even an hour fore he relaxed, fore the grip on his spine loosened. And still he drove, not willing to turn back and give up any part of that still peace. The later it got the fewer cars he passed, and for long stretches of road it felt like they were only two people in the world. A temporary infinity.

…

It wasn't his hand on hers that had her stirring, it was the stillness that woke her cause she'd been dreaming of bein' on a boat on a warm summer day hearing the waves crashing against the side. And then suddenly the boat crunched on gravel and the dream got darker til she felt his fingers running along her hand – and then she realized the dark was from the night cause her eyes were open. "Where are we?" she asked looking around to see them parked somewhere surrounded by tall dark trees, and considering it was now eleven it meant they were at least three hours away from his house.

"A national park," he answered without releasing her hand. He didn't know if he'd ever just touched her before. There was no motive behind this – not to turn her on, to get her off, even when he slept against her it was rarely more than just an arm slung over her waist and it was mostly cause she helped him fall asleep. But this, holding her surprisingly smaller hand, he was feeling sentimental.

She didn't know where they were exactly but she wasn't concerned with caring – there was an odd little curl of his mouth as he stared at her, he was touchin' her. All signs of his having relaxed. "You a hiker?" She saw him nod and she looked back at the trees to see the shape of what may've been a sign. "I hate hiking, almost much as I hate runnin'."

"Yet you run," he said knowin' just how strong her legs were from the many times they'd been around his hips.

With a tired shrug she said, "Can't eat like I want without doin' somethin. Much as I hate it I gotta admit it feels a bit like freedom." That might've been the most true thing he'd heard from her, til she added, "that is, after I get over feelin' like I'm gonna die."

His laugh was short, light, too lost in his mind to give anything more than a small chuckle. "I'll let you decide what we do," he said suddenly, having gone back and forth to himself whether they should leave, "sleep here til five, or go home now."

She pondered both choices, wondering why he was lettin' her choose since he'd come all the way out here with the purpose of bein' away from his house. She turned to him; "Did Raylan say where my daddy was?"

It shouldn't've been a surprise she figured he'd called, Raylan had said she was the one who asked him too. He could do nothing but nod, knowing she was too smart not to know Bo would die.

Which she was already figuring. She supposed she'd always wanted her daddy dead, 'least since she was fifteen; but the thought of it left a hole in the pit of her stomach. "They got bathrooms?" she asked without lookin' at him, feeling his grip on her hand tighten. "Can't say layin' in the backseat's gonna be comfortable."

And it certainly wasn't, at least not for him. He had his jacket folded as a pillow and Lyla laying over him with her head tucked beneath his chin. It wasn't uncomfortable enough he wouldn't sleep, but it wasn't as comfortable as if he'd been in a bed. Although he knew with her chest flat against his he wouldn't fall asleep if she didn't - and he knew her mind was turmoil. Yet that didn't prepare him for what she said.  
"You know, if he dies there'll be no reason for me to keep seein' you." The hand that'd been running along her back stilled at her traitorous words. "Won't need you to put him back in prison, wouldn't really need to see Raylan neither so no need to visit while I'm up. And since he'd be dead there's no reason to look for apartments with Winona tomorrow, so I really wouldn't have a reason to be in Lexington anymore. I mean there's always Mike's bar but I can easily buy whiskey from a store, or take up drinkin' moonshine lord knows Harlan's drownin' in it. So you know," she sat up to look at him, to see his unhappily creased brows and what could've been hurt in his gaze though it was too dark to see, "if you wanted to get rid of me you could let it happen. Or make a grand gesture, it's really your choice." Seeing what she wanted she laid back down feelin' his arms stay where they'd been around her back.

"You're leavin' it up to me?" he asked considering irritation that she was makin' him choose what he wanted, again. Though that irritation was slight compared to the sudden onset of relief at hearin' she wasn't sayin' she wanted this to be over; which he berated himself for thinkin' cause nothing could come of it, she was still as much a criminal as her last name entailed.

She shrugged against him. "Figured it was fair, my daddy did just die." She smiled at the breath of his laugh, knowin' he was probably rollin' his eyes along with it. "And Mack, but I'm gonna wait til my daddy's proclaimed dead fore sharin' that with authorities."

"Lyla," he said softly, now knowin' the ring left on his table was Mack's - and from the way she'd cared for the man Tim knew he was someone she hadn't wanted dead.

"Don't," she said not givin' him a chance to say more than her name. "You're gonna say it ain't my fault. You don't know it yet, but it is. And I'm done talkin' about it."

He almost considered pushin' her, there was no reason she should blame herself - hell if there wasn't shit eatin' away at him he'd no control over. But the part of him closest to her knew there was something she hadn't said keepin' him from understanding. If she thought she had a valid reason to take the blame no amount of convincing from him would change her mind. So instead he said, 'okay,' and continued holding her – lettin' the silence envelop them.

He was woken by her sitting up. Not the beeping of his watch, and certainly not the sun cause it wouldn't start risin' for another hour; it was the loss of her warmth that had him stirring. "What time is it?"

She sat between his legs holding his arm as she turned off the alarm he'd set. "Thirty seconds after five," she mumbled lettin' him go. She regretted everything about bein' awake; her head hurt, her ribs hurt, she was cold cause they'd left the windows down, and her Vicodin was at his house three hours away. "We're stoppin' at the first place that sells coffee," she said looking down at him to see his eyes closed. "Tim?" No response. Her eyes rolled to the roof of the car as she sighed heavily.

Tim's eyes shot open at the sound of a door closing, and when he saw a vehicle beside them he jerked himself into a sitting position to find they weren't even at the park anymore, they were at a gas station.

"I see you're awake," Lyla said from the driver's seat, having been the one to close the door that woke him.

He smelled the coffee fore he saw it, smelled the sugar from the donuts too. "Move over," he told her and waited before he climbed behind the wheel. They didn't say much as they drove, didn't say anything at all really. She'd rolled her window down and sat enjoyin' the cool breeze, giving no sense that she wanted to disrupt the calm. Her eyes might've been closed but he knew she wasn't asleep, hell his eyes would've been closed too if he wasn't driving.

She might've enjoyed it more if she wasn't waiting for him to say something, to give any indication of whether he wanted her to keep comin' around or if he was taking the opportunity to end it. She convinced herself the knot in her stomach was cause of the coffee, which hadn't been good for more than the caffeine, the bad taste in her mouth left over from the donut.

Not a word was spoken in the three hour drive, not when the sun rose and they both stared in awe at the orange glow, not even when they pulled into his driveway. They silently walked through his door heading for his bathroom with the same intention of brushing their teeth. This wasn't the comfortable silence they always fell into, it wasn't wrapped around them both like a blanket keeping them warm. It was his silence, and it was her silence; and it separated them.

They stood side by side in his bathroom, him swishing mouthwash and her still brushing her teeth with the spare toothbrush she kept in her purse. That would be it, she'd spit the toothpaste in the sink put on her shoes and leave. She didn't look at him when he finished, to see what he was doing as he continued standing beside her; she spit, rinsed, and dried her mouth wantin' to get outta there soon as she could.

Only instead of lettin' her leave, she hadn't even moved from the sink, he took the toothbrush from her hand and held it as he contemplated something with severely furrowed brows. She caught herself fore she could ask what he was doing, if she'd said anything he might've given it back to her and let her go; but she knew enough to wait. And she watched, feelin' hope flutter in her chest, as he set her toothbrush beside his and left the bathroom without a word.


	17. Chapter 17

_2x01_

Lyla pulled up to Winona's house thirty minutes after the time she was supposed to. She honestly considered leaving, with her daddy dead – and Tim had called her while she was drivin' to repeat what Raylan told him, her daddy _was_ dead – she didn't need a place in Lexington. And yet after several minutes of hesitation and contemplation, she got out of Jimmy's car and rang the bell.

"You must be Lyla," Winona said when she opened the door to find a young woman with lovely dark curls standing on her step. "I was wondering when you'd get here. Come on in," she said motioning her through the door, somewhere between irritated and put out. "I'm Winona,' she said shaking the other woman's hand quickly before leading her through the hall into the kitchen. "I was considering calling Raylan, didn't know if I should be worried." Truth was she'd called Raylan, knowin' the girl was in a bit of danger, and he'd been sure of her safety and that Tim may or may not be join' her; either way, her daddy was dead and Lyla was not to know yet.

Lyla nodded uncomfortably. "I'm real sorry 'bout that. We ended up drivin' to a park three hours away, slept in the car."

Without details it wasn't much of an excuse, and Winona looked at Lyla questioningly; and at the sight of her face Lyla thought Winona seemed as judgmental as Raylan. "For fun?"

"No, he was um," Lyla didn't think it was fair to say that whole day had been one big trigger for him since it wasn't hers to share, "he needed to calm down," she decided to instead, watching Winona nod as she grabbed a mug to get her coffee. "And he wasn't gonna leave me in the house by myself so we went for a drive."

It wasn't until Winona turned to Lyla, who sat at the island in the sunlight, that she saw the bruises around her neck. Suddenly all feeling of being put out evaporated as she handed her the mug. "I've only met Tim a few times," Winona said as a means of conversation, "he seems nice."

Lyla gave a short nod and a half shrug considering what to call him. "Most of the time he's a sarcastic asshole," she took a breath, "but he's real cute."

With a smile Winona got herself another cup of coffee. "Sounds like something I would've said when I first met Raylan."

"And with those sad eyes and his daddy issues betcha never could stay mad at him."

Winona laughed at the truth to those words. "You Harlan-kids know how to turn something in your favor."

Lyla shrugged. "Gotta make all the shit worth it in some way, I guess," she said though her mind was miles away. "He didn't really tell me why I needed an apartment here, but I'm assuming he told you the day's not to end without me havin' one. And if he calls it'll be to you, case I decide 'screw it' and go back to Harlan."

Winona didn't know if she was impressed or worried that Lyla would leave, cause Raylan was adamant for Winona not to tip Lyla off cause she was too clever for her own good. "He wants you outta Harlan. And with how much he cares about you he might consider keepin' you here by force."

For a moment she laughed like it could've been an ordinary day, and then the weight of it all settled back on her tired shoulders. "I've been wantin' outta Harlan for what feels like my whole life. I thought it w-"

Winona watched her sit with her mouth against her hand staring at the counter heavily displeased, lookin' like she was irritated with the emotion welling in her eyes. Winona knew it all too well. "You look like you need a splash of somethin' in your coffee," she said turning for her cabinet.

"I'm much obliged," Lyla said gladly accepting the liquor. She almost wished she hadn't taken one of her pills, they made her weepy and she was already upset, but sleeping in the car had done a number on her ribs and she'd've been an irritable bitch without one.

Winona brushed aside her thanks. "Oh honey you figured out what today was long before you came here," she slid the bottle toward her, "you drink as much as it takes to keep standing."

Without answering Lyla filled her half full mug near the brim before taking a long drink, and she calmly set it on the count before looking at Winona's surprisingly beautiful face. "He called then," she said knowing the sympathy had come from somewhere. It also explained what Tim meant when he said he'd taken care of everything – Raylan probably called Tim first, then Tim had called her and after he'd called in Mack so she wouldn't have to. God this day. She looked at Winona needing something other than to keep going, and after several attempts at speaking – opening her mouth and inhaling as though to speak only for Lyla to look away – she finally said, "I gave Tim the choice 'tween lettin' me leave today and ending this," she motioned to herself and the imaginary Tim standing beside her, who would've been killin' her with his eyes if he knew she was sayin' this, "or makin' a gesture to show he wanted me to keep comin' around and he put my toothbrush next to his." Lyla watched Winona's brows raise and confusion settle in her eyes as she waited for more. "I need to talk about somethin' 'sides my daddy. So, that's good right?"

She honestly didn't know what to do for the girl. Raylan had said, in a way, she might be a bit difficult to deal with but to give her what she wanted cause she probably already knew. So Winona nodded. "Sounds like he's not ready for it to end," she said in assuring agreement.

Lyla nodded guessing that, and she wasn't sure if what she felt in the pit of her stomach was hope or dread. "Well I ran from the last one, and the one before that. I'm sure I'll run from him too."

Winona watched her take another long drink of her coffee seein' so much of Raylan in her – though Raylan wasn't nearly as scared of commitment. "If it makes you feel any better I'm married and I ran to my ex-husband," she said not entirely sure why she'd admitted that.

She'd been in the process of swallowing and a laugh snuck up on her so suddenly she nearly spit the drink back in the mug. Wipin' a quick hand over her mouth she said, "it kinda did a little bit."

Winona joined her and the two laughed lightly for a few moments before settling in an uncomfortable silence. Which they stayed in a few moments more until Winona returned the liquor to the cabinet. "Well I looked up some apartments in the area and most of them were awful," she said grabbing the addresses she'd printed. "These were the ones I thought were somewhat decent."

Lyla looked over the handful Winona had found that she could stomach looking at – Winona had broadened the search to condos - and she was surprised at a few of them. "This one has a pool," she said seeing the black and white pictures.

"Yeah I really liked that one," Winona agreed looking over her shoulder. "I figured it'd be easier if we drove together. Depending on how long it takes we can come back here have lunch, see if Raylan wants you to hang around."

Lyla turned away from the papers to look at Winona. "Sure I'm not puttin' you out?" she asked, knowin' Raylan had probably told Winona to stay in case she decided to just go home – which wasn't exactly fair, less Winona owed him something.

Winona waved aside her concerns grabbing her jacket. "It's no trouble," she said locking the door behind them, seeing a knowing look in Lyla's pale eyes.

The drive could've been silent, Lyla expected it to be considering the two women didn't know each other – but that lack of knowing is what Winona needed cause she was stuck somewhere between wrong and right and the difference between the two was lonely and home. It was no surprise which one she'd pick. Except everything was a surprise to Lyla cause she didn't know Winona or her husband Gary – but Lyla did know Raylan, and from what Ava had told her about him he could be very endearing.

Not to say Lyla wanted to hear any of it, the idea of Raylan's sex life fell very close to Boyd's; however she did sit and listen, offered her support. Which consisted mostly of, "well he is Raylan, he's kinda hard to resist," or "ya'll were married, it's different when there's history."

For the most part they were gettin' along fine, though Winona did dominate most of the conversation – the problem were the owners of the complexes. Each one turned Lyla Crowder away. About halfway through the list Lyla began to realize what was happening, and she watched the next woman's face when she said her name seein' the recognition even though Lyla didn't know this woman from Adam. "It's no use," Lyla said when they returned to the car.

"I'd say maybe we should explain but it sounds like your daddy's not well loved," Winona agreed, almost startled by the ferocity in which they were being refused.

Lyla's face was glum as she pulled the seatbelt around her. "I don't know when he did it but my daddy made sure I'd have no way of stayin' here. No one's gonna let me rent a place."

Winona watched Lyla run a hand wearily over her brow, could see the pain in her eyes. She had so much sympathy for this girl, cause it'd become clear there'd been no choice in her life but to follow her daddy's wishes. "I recognized you when I opened the door," she said seeing Lyla's confused suspicion. "Raylan used to have this picture of you in his wallet, I think he said you were five, and you had the biggest hair," she further explained making Lyla smile faintly. "There'd been someone else in the picture but they'd been torn out."

"It was my brother," Lyla said softly. "He'd had my feather boa round his neck, daddy took the picture. I didn't realize Raylan had it." Lyla hadn't noticed it was missing, which was surprisin' considering how good a time it'd been.

Winona sat wanting to smooth Lyla's hair back, but Raylan warned her against affection – or rather Tim told Raylan it'd be better if Winona didn't try touching her, Lyla was finicky about bein' touched on a good day. So she kept her hands in her lap looking at the face of what used to be the happiest little girl, and the shell of what was left made Winona's heart ache. "Seein' that picture of you, it's how I knew he was a good man," she told Lyla, feeling inexplicably attached to her. "I feel like I should thank you."

…

"Just like that?" Tim asked standing against the counter nursing a beer after the long day he'd had at work, dealing with the aftermath of Raylan's shootout with Bo and his men; and Raylan hadn't even shown up.

Lyla shrugged takin' a swig of her own beer as she stood beside him. "Yeah just like that, she was offerin' me her guestroom. It was the weirdest thing."

He stared at her a moment waiting for her to add more, only by that point he knew she wouldn't and it nearly made him smile. "You know a different person might consider bein' grateful."

She turned to him, brows drown together and her lips pursed in a frown, knowin' exactly what he was saying. "I said thank you."

He looked at her innocently, restraining his smile. "You sure, cause you usually forget?" he asked before occupying his mouth with beer.

She could see the corners of his mouth fightin' to smile, and the hard look in her eye lasted only a few seconds before she shook her head grinning cause he was right. "I should probably go," she said lookin' at her watch, knowin' if she stayed longer she wasn't gonna leave cause she enjoyed the calm he made her feel – like everything might be okay even though it'd all changed.

His brows rose at that, she hadn't been there more than five minutes. And it'd surprised him when he heard her truck pull up to the curb, yet she came in and he'd asked where she was staying and now a beer later she was leaving. His eyes narrowed, smellin' the smoke thick in her clothes and hair, on her skin. The cigarettes she normally smoked had a distinctly sweet smell to them, and she came around so often and smoked so consistently that he was quickly startin' to love the smell of 'em on her – but she'd smoked damn near the whole pack cause his eyes were almost watering. "Sure you don't wanna shower first?"

She turned to him unamused, and offended. "It'll be like this for the next few days, you want me to just stay away?" she asked knowing she was being unfair but finding she was unable to stop it.

"That what I said?" he asked not taking offense, he saw her guilt the moment she said it and he saw it even more when she sighed looking away from him. He took pity on her. "If it makes you feel better, you're a bitch on a good day." Keepin' his face blank he watched her turn to him with furrowed brows before she smiled, which she couldn't hold for more than a few seconds. He didn't know why he did it, didn't realize what he'd done til he had an arm around her shoulders and his mouth against her temple feelin' her stiffen against him.

Her first thought was, 'what the hell was that,' but her second thought was somewhere close to 'good god does this feel like safety.' And she honestly couldn't imagine what he was thinkin' as he moved away from her, that whole day was just one giant mess she now had clean up. Only this mess was easier. While he ran a hand over his face unhappily she quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek, and nearly smirked as he turned to her wide-eyed.  
"Why not add to the weirdness," she shrugged. "I mean my toothbrush is in your bathroom, I'm livin' with Raylan's ex, my daddy's dead, Mack's dead, Boyd's shot – again. It's been a hell of a day. And that's," she motioned to him and what he'd done, "as close as I'm gonna get to sex." A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at his short laugh. "Tell me a good fuck wouldn't make you feel better," she challenged. His only response was to shake his head, a faint smile curled on his mouth cause he knew she meant sex with him specifically and he liked hearin' it; and she knew he did, which was why she'd said it. "On that note," she said pulling the bottle from his hand and takin' a long gulp, "I'll see you later." She returned the now empty bottle to his hand before heading for the door, grabbing her purse from the table, and casting him a look that fell between suggestive and regret as she closed the door behind her.

It wasn't what she wanted, she wanted nothin' more than to take a shower and sit on the couch beside him. He would've stolen her clothes, smoke clung fiercely to every fiber, leavin' her with wearing his– which would've smelled like him, on top of usin' his shampoo and soap. _She_ would've smelled like him. And he knew her enough he would've sat right beside her, maybe even touched her. She would've been filled so full to the brim of him there wouldn't anything left of her.

Yet instead she drove in the black of night with her window down feelin' rain sweeping across her skin clinging to her hair. She felt what little she'd taken of him slip away in the rush of the night til there was nothin' left but her. And Lyla didn't think she'd ever felt so alone.

…

"I don't mean to complain, baby, but it took you long enough gettin' here," Boyd said as he painfully climbed into the car, finding it wasn't much warmer or drier than outside.

She looked at her brother finding she couldn't be happy at the lack of God in that sentence cause the rest of the day had sucked so hard. "If you wanna go back and wait for cousin Johnny, be my guest," she told him as she drove away from the hospital.

"I suspect I deserve some of that," he said runnin' a hand through her damp hair, feelin' her lean into his touch; neither of them knowing their cousin was also in the hospital. "Head east, we're goin' to Florida," he told her, dragging the tips of his fingers along her scalp knowin' she loved it.

"You deserve all of it," she said makin' him smile – he had a beautiful smile, full of white teeth and enjoyment. It was strained that night, not half as bright as it normally was. He was exhausted same as her, only he wasn't admitting it. She didn't go east nor did she have any plans of headin' to Florida – and Winona had told her after Raylan called he was goin' to put all the Miami shit behind him. Winona hadn't used those exact words but she'd said enough that Lyla knew the guys who'd killed her daddy had really been after Raylan.

Boyd looked at his sister's half-lit face as she turned toward Harlan. "Baby I do believe I told you east," he said quickly on his way to impatience. He was wounded and in pain, and not all of it could be taken away with pills or booze; after everything he hadn't been able to do he would kill the woman Raylan had taken to Florida, he'd kill 'em all if he could. "And I am fair certain given the opportunity to eradicate the wrong done to our daddy you would," he nearly slammed into the dashboard from how sudden and fierce she'd stomped on the brakes, leavin' him to catch himself as the tires squealed on the road.

"Shut up or get out, those are your options," she said through grit teeth. "I'm sorry he killed your followers, I'm sorry he was a shit daddy, and I am sorry he's dead. I truly am. But don't you dare sit there tellin' me I owe that man a damn thing more than puttin' him in the ground." She sat breathin' deeply from sayin' all that in a tired outburst, knowin' his eyes were daggers though she couldn't see him. And she was left rolling her eyes in exasperation when he threw the door open and slammed it behind him, rattling the entire car with its force. He was bein' a little bitch, and she could do nothing but sigh cause no matter how much Boyd would'a wanted their daddy dead this was a chance for vengeance and killing – and he'd clearly justified it to himself that he'd avenger their father for his wrongful murder. But she wanted no part of it.

At the sound of her tires rolling on the asphalt he turned wide-eyed in utter stupification at seein' she was gonna leave him on the side of the road. "Lyla!" he roared seein' her break lights as she stopped. And he stalked his way to where she was and climbed back in. "I cannot believe you were gonna leave me," he told her, his voice almost quiet in its bath of hurt. "There is a bullet wound in my shoulder and it is nothin' compared to the pain you have caused me just now. The only person in this world that loves me and you were gonna let me walk over a thousand miles in the rain. I have no words."

She stared at him, brows drawn together with a clear thought ringing in her head; what the hell you big baby. "Okay for starters I'm pretty sure it ain't a thousand miles to Florida, and second; did you learn nothin' from Devil's hissy fit? If you get outta the car I'm leavin' your ass." And with that she started driving, knowin' they had several miles til they got back to Harlan County.

For the most part Boyd sat quietly beside her. His followers, his friends, had ruthlessly killed at his daddy's hands, his daddy had been shot down without thought, he'd been shot too, and his faith was shattered. The longer he sat beside her the more he realized how tired he was, how tired _she_ was. Til finally he turned intending to apologize; "I see now why Devil was so irate when he returned," he said softly. "It's a certain pain felt in the heart to see you drivin' away."

Lyla nodded patting his hand briefly, accepting his apology and givin' her own. "Had to suck him twice to make him happy," she added feelin' a small smile twitch over her mouth, seein' a ghost of a smile over Boyd's before it too wilted.

The rest of the drive went on in silence, though it wasn't the kind that pulled them apart – they sat quietly together in the kind of silence that moved and breathed with them. That buzzed with its own pulse. It was Boyd and Lyla as it'd always been, how it always should'a been – and it was made bittersweet by their missin' daddy, brother, and momma. Bo might've been the meanest man in all a Harlan County but he'd given his children direction, now they were on their own.

She pulled into the driveway and cut the engine before turning to her brother, givin' enough of a sign that he knew she wasn't ready to go in yet. And because he knew her better than himself he sat simply starin' back at her waiting for her mind to mull over the thought she wanted to share. "This could be a chance," she told him, her voice a soft breath as though it was strained by the fear of daddy takin' it away. "We can be whoever we want. We could be good if we wanted."

She sat starin' at him, blue eyes wide, with the face she'd worn as a child – foolish and hopeful. And as much a mercy as it was to remind her how futile hope was in Harlan he couldn't make himself. "There ain't no one else I'd consider that proposition for," he told her, seein' that rare smile that just took his breath away with how sweet she looked.

"You're gonna try it with me?" she asked lettin' herself feel honest, pure, hope for the first time in over twenty years.

And he nodded briefly, hearing the rain drumming on the roof of the car. "I make no guarantee."

She didn't think 'good' would stick, for either of them – but she was gonna give it a shot. And he loved her enough to try it with her. And that was everything.


	18. Chapter 18

_Littlescribe: thank you so much for your kind review, it made my day reading it. I'm so glad you think I'm doing the show and it's wonderful characters justice, cause I've been worried I haven't been - especially for Tim cause he's so difficult. And I'm glad you think Lyla's interesting, I've been worried that I'm dragging out character development too much and that it's bogging the story down; so it was truly a relief to hear you like it. Thank you again, so very much. _

* * *

Lyla was already halfway to Lexington fore Boyd woke up, his only answer to where she was lay on the bedside table with her pretty handwriting tellin' him "gone to talk with the marshals."

It wasn't entirely true, she was goin' to talk to David Vasquez as they'd arrange a little more than five years earlier, but she'd be in the same building and she still had to give a statement on her whereabouts when Mack was murdered. Much as she liked David he couldn't make the day look any better, it wasn't even eight in the morning and she already wanted to go back to bed.

"Mornin' Ms. Crowder, what can we do for ya?" Art asked greeting the almost ragged young woman who'd entered the office.

She shrugged, eyes falling to Raylan's desk to find it empty – a gaze Tim took note of as he watched her curiously. "I'm supposed to meet David Vasquez, guy at the front sent me here," she said seein' the older man nod, his face one of faux pondering. "Raylan told me not to worry bout givin' my statement til today, take it he called you and you called David sayin' we'd talk in your office."

It never ceased to amaze and unnerve him how easily she put things together. "I hope that's not a problem," he said wishin' she was easier to egg on, they might've been able to get more outta her if they knew how to provoke her.

"Would you care if it was?" she asked a brow cocked as she looked up at him.

A wry grin tugged on his mouth. "Can't say I would," he said seein' what might've been a smile on her mouth but it didn't stick long before she was frowning again. "Morning Mr. Vasquez," he greeted the lawyer as he walked into the office with a coffee in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

"Chief," David said with a nod before looking to the woman he'd come to see.

She took the cup he offered her. "Hey David," she said mustering little enthusiasm before takin' a sip. "Still remember how I like it."

He smiled briefly. "Good to see you Lyla," was all he said in response. "Are we doing this in your office?"

Art nodded before motioning them to follow, and David nudged her as he walked around her knowing she didn't wanna go in Her eyes turned to Tim as she passed his desk to find him starin heavily. "What?" she asked pausing in front of where he sat.

After a brief moment of contemplation, a question clear in his dark blue eyes, he shook his head. "I'll ask you later," he decided, giving her enough she'd know he wanted her to come over after work, or be there when he came home.

She'd stopped no more than five seconds, barely noticeable, 'cept Art had been watchin' her specifically to see how the two behaved – there was so much familiarity in the way they looked at each other, in the way they read each other. He gave her first a steady look fore turning the same hard eyes to Tim as he shut the door.

"You got the list of names for me?" David asked sitting behind Art's desk as he pulled a thick file out of his briefcase, a small recorder to his right already going.

Lyla nodded grabbing her purse. "Organized by year, month if I could. Been keepin' track since we made the deal," she answered handing over a lengthy list.

"'Scuse me," Art said looking between the two, who bore their own familiarity, and quite possibly pleasantness, "what are the contents of this list?"

David took his eyes from her organized account to look at the chief, realizing Art was naïve to who Lyla Crowder really was. "Right," he said pulling an unsealed file out of his briefcase, "with the passing of Bo Crowder, my condolences by the way," he added for Lyla's benefit, "it's no longer precedent to hide Lyla's role in his initial arrest." He didn't include the rest cause it was on file; Lyla agreed her name could be made public when her daddy died as well as the rest of the information she was givin' today.

Art took the file handed him and thumbed through to find several transcripts of her meetings with Vasquez and that she'd given several key pieces to the investigation that made it possible for Bo to be arrested five years before.

"Look at that," Lyla said tonelessly starin' at his furrowed brows, "he likes me."

He cast her a long look fore handing the file back to David. "Wouldn't go so far as to say that," he replied dryly. "There don't seem to be dump sites on that list."

Her face might've been pleasant if not a bit blank but her eyes glittered almost dangerously, hearing David pause the recorder. "I omitted that," she answered simply.

His brow rose. "You omitted that?" he repeated wondering why Vasquez wasn't commenting on the bullshit that statement was.

But David shrugged when Art turned to him. "She omits anything she had a hand in," he said, eyes now back on the page in front of him as he pressed play. "I wasn't expecting to see dates from as early as '93, you were what seven?" He glanced up to see her void expression, he'd known the moment Art asked if he could sit in on the interrogation Lyla wouldn't make it easy – he hadn't realized Art would be just as difficult.

Lyla offered a small shrug. "Some stood out more than others, it's not a complete list. Heaven knows daddy don't remember all the people he killed."

"Were you witness to any of the murders?" he asked looking up from his notes long enough to see her rueful smile as she looked at the window.

She wished she could actually see outside, to have something for her eyes to focus on cause it made talking easier. But she was just starin' at the blue sky, lookin' more cheerful than it had any right considering the cosmic turmoil her life had been thrown in. "I'd sit on the porch, they'd smile as they walked in. Then I cleaned up the mess," she said quietly, her voice soft enough David moved the recorder closer to her.

"Did you ever tell anyone what happened?"

It was the first time she hesitated, though it wasn't so much a hesitation as a drawn out pause – she sat with her elbow on the arm of the chair and her mouth pressed against her knuckles starin at the carpet like it'd wronged her. Both men sat quietly hearing the faint ticking of the wall clock echoing their impatience. 'I'm daddy's good girl,' that's what he'd always told her fore he said not to utter a word. She'd gotten so used to those words it was ingrained in her mind, and she had to bite her tongue fore she said it. And she found herself, suddenly, with the need to defend him – it swelled in her, searing her stomach and knotting her throat, burnin her eyes. "You'll see the last two names were the witnesses from the lab explosion," she said pointing to Art.

Whereas Art was still looking for an answer to why as a child she'd never said anything, David was nodding. "Okay," he told her quietly, letting the question go. "You know for a fact your father was the one who killed them?"

"Yes."

He waited for more and sighed when she said nothing else before turning the recorder off. "Someone from this office tip you off?" he asked knowing her well enough to guess she'd figured that out.

"Yes," was her simple answer again. And before Art could form a sentence to why in God's name Raylan had done such a thing, not considering it'd been Tim, she was already speaking. "Everything law enforcement tells me's a piece of a bigger puzzle. It could've been as simple as, 'did you know your brother threatened to blow up a meth lab,' and I would've known a CI was involved. You can play it again," she told David sitting back, feeling both men's eyes piercing her face and another pair hot on the back of her head.

David sat for a second after he continued recording knowing she either wouldn't answer or she'd start something with her response. "You told your father you believed one of the witnesses was an informant?"

Her answer was the raising of her left shoulder, that was it, no half-assed attempt to excuse herself, just a shrug. And as David had known, it started something. "You are aware those two men are dead, right?" Art asked her, not noticing when David sighed rubbing his eyes. "That you're responsible for your daddy's actions?"

"And I'm sure you're aware who's responsible for my needin' to extort that knowledge, right?" she challenged, throwing in Raylan's responsibility for their deaths and seein' Art back down. She turned to David and exhaled heavily. "I needed somethin' to make my daddy stop kickin' me, you photographin' my injuries fore I give my statement?"

"After," David answered returning the file to his briefcase knowin' they wouldn't get much else done for the day, nor did he have time. "I also made an appointment with a radiologist to confirm your ribs are broken, earliest time was tomorrow at eight. I'll run these names and we can finish this up tomorrow after your appointment. If either of you have anything else you'd like to add I have ten minutes," he said looking between the two, both of whom apparently had little regard for the other

Without lookin' at Art she said, "I have a proposition."

Both men laughed, though Art's was closer to a snort. "The value of your information died with your father," David told her callously.

"Why stop there, tell me how you really feel."

"Bo Crowder was a piece of a shit the world's better off without him," David said accepting her challenge, shocking Art cause not even he would've said that to her the day after her daddy was killed. "And it's baffling you turned out half as decent as you did. This," he held up the page of names, "is a courtesy. You think I'm gonna put his corpse on the stand and prosecute him, send him prison. Your hand in dumping bodies makes this list useless." He was looking for some sort of rise out of her, for a response cause she was as much a criminal as Bo – only that wasn't true, or at least he didn't believe it. She was an unwilling accessory in his eyes.

And she knew that, cause that's how she'd painted the picture. He was in the palm of her hand and only occasionally saw through the bullshit. That was exactly the way she liked it; if he were ever honest with himself he'd realize he liked it too. She sat quietly, a dare shining in her eye. "I want the marshal's to stop lookin' at my brother," she said cuttin' to the chase without further ado. And before Art could think of snorting she said, "if Boyd steps outta line in the future by all means throw his dumbass in prison, but stay outta the past."

David waited til her eyes were back on him, the sight of that icy blue reminded him of a snake – and before he even opened his mouth he knew he was feeing right into her hand. "What do you have?"

"A ledger," she answered watching him sit back as he processed what all that could mean. "Names of suppliers, cooks, dealers. Or I could be mistaken and it's just the Crowder family line. I'll let you two decide which one it'll be."

With that she stood from her chair and stepped out into the main office closing the door behind her, feeling the separation from Mr. Mullen like a breath of fresh air. And then she stopped in front of Tim. "Jesus Cyclops, d'you forget your sunglasses?" she asked only half joking – it wasn't enough to be sittin' beside a very suspicious Art Mullen she'd sat knowin' Tim was outside staring a hole through her head.

But he wasn't bothered, in fact he grinned. "That make you Jean Grey?"

They were the first movies he'd made her watch that she enjoyed, after he found her reading his comics. And she smiled at his joke fore shakin' her head and getting to it before David came out. "How do you feel about our sexual relationship being on file?" she asked watching the playfulness leave his face, and she honestly regretted it cause he could sometimes be the sweetest thing.

"Bout level with the Wolverine movie," he answered wondering what was goin' on her in head. Cause from the way she sighed rolling her eyes to the ceiling that hadn't been the answer she wanted.

It meant more work for her, and she was anything but happy. "Alright," she grumbled shoving aside her irritability for a pleasant face as she turned to David. "What'd you decide?"

"What do you think?" he asked instead, unable to resist the teasing in her gaze. "Lets document your injuries; I wanna get the ones on your neck they're already healing."

Tim watched Lyla closely for her reaction to the hand David placed on her back, it was a simple gesture – a nudge – before he started walking outta the office. But Lyla really didn't enjoy bein' touched, not less she was real comfortable – and she was almost there with Tim, he saw her relax more and more every time she was with him, til eventually she'd stop tensing at his hands on her. And it struck him, with such sudden force he was left in a stupefied daze, to see how comfortable she was with Vasquez. There was no flinching, no recoiling or side stepping, no recognition at all that it'd happened; just a rueful glance at him before she followed after the lawyer.

…

The rest of the day he'd spent refusing to think anymore on Lyla, whether to wonder about the unhappiness in her sigh at him not wantin' their relations made public, or that her unhappiness stemmed from having to ask David - and if he thought about it long enough he knew what her 'asking' entailed. He'd had a bitter taste in his mouth the remainder of the day.

She was late gettin' to his house which was a surprise considering he'd been late too – Raylan had decided to come back from his trip to Florida, thankfully without shootin anyone else – and so Tim had expected her truck to be out front and her to be on his couch. Only her truck wasn't on the curb and his house was as empty as he'd left it. At a quarter to ten he'd given up on her comin, had invested in the video game he was playin and was considering calling it night early when he heard the sound of her tires crunching the gravel as she pulled up.

Without so much as a second thought as to whether this was still a good idea he was opening the door for her to come inside. "You got some splainin' to do," he said closing the door behind her.

She hung her jacket on the doorknob to the closet and turned to him with a faint smile. "Ain't the same without the accent," she said holding up a takeout bag. "Guessin' you're not hungry." At the shake of his head she turned for the kitchen and put it in the fridge, feeling him behind her.

"You have dinner with Vasquez?" he asked turning with her as she walked around him.

"Yes," she answered simply, seein his teeth grind silently – it shouldn't've made her happy considering what she'd just got done doing, but it was so clear he thought of her as his and it warmed her in a way that should've had her running. "Wanna guess what I had for desert?"

There'd been no humor in either her voice or face, no irritation no anger – her expression was void. And it had him following her as she walked into his room and then to the bathroom, had him standing silently in the doorway watchin her brush her teeth to get the taste of semen out of her mouth. There were many thoughts goin through his head and most of them were centered around Lyla on her knees and whether sex with him meant anything to her. But the one that stood out the most was realizing why she'd sighed so heavily in the office, that she'd known the second he answered what she'd do. "This isn't what I meant," he told her quietly.

She almost didn't hear him over her tapping the toothbrush on the sink, but she sighed when she turned to him seein his unhappily creased brow and his deep frown. "You didn't want our sexual relation on file, this is how I got it," she told him, her irritation now showing as she slapped the toothbrush on the counter and shoved her way past him. "You're welcome by the way."

Any warmth at seeing her seeped from his body as he followed her back into the living room. "Jesus, Lyla, I'm not thanking you for going down on him."

"Why not," she demanded roughly turning to him, "it got you what you wanted." She held up a hand fore he could argue, fore he could find some excuse to say he hadn't been asking this of her. "What was I supposed to say?" she asked watching him shake his head in disbelief. "No really, what was I supposed to tell David - please? He's gonna lie sayin' I was with him instead of here, he's covering all our asses cause he understands how impossible the situation was. And since this," she pointed between the two of them, "is some kinda shameful secret for you there's no other explanation for me to have in your house sides under marshal protection, except I wasn't officially under your protection."

"If you'd fucking said anything you would've been," he yelled matching her angry voice.

But instead of quieting at the boom of his voice, as she'd done the last time he yelled at her, it only provoked her further. "What, so you could've been here with me when daddy stopped by?"

He stared at her not understanding how she could think his being there to stop Bo was a bad thing. "He wouldn't've put his hands on you, less that's what you get off on now." He didn't know where that last bit had come from, whether it was just from her anger at him or the thought of her with David which he couldn't get out of his head.

After a moment of wondering she laughed bitterly, an ugly shattering sound. "Oh yes, sniper for the Army Rangers here to be my knight in shining armor," she said seeing that comment settle like a slap on his face. "It ever occur to you my daddy was ex-military, that he might've been able to get the drop on you – cause he'd'a killed you. He took everything from me that wasn't him, excuse me for not wantin' to find out exactly how that scenario would'a played out."

He wasn't in the mind to hear the truth in her words, to hear the quiver in her voice as she yelled. "I'm not a debutante, Lyla, I'm more than capable of defending myself."

"You know it's a lot easier to talk yourself up when he's dead."

That one word stuck in his head stealing the anger from him, forcing him to see what he'd been too offended and hurt to notice; there was a tremor in her hands, the flickering of her eyes, the sudden turn to aggression. It was like looking in the mirror. "Lyla," he said softly stepping closer.

"Don't," she said seein the pity in his eyes, and she didn't want it. "He's dead, it's over I'm done. I am done. When do I get to be done!"

He could hear a lifetime of pain in the gasping breath she took, saw it flood her eyes before she turned away. In everything that'd happened he forgot to think how she'd feel – Bo was a piece of shit but he was her daddy and Tim knew a part of her loved him. She was hurt and tired, and angry, and instead of bein there for her he egged her on. He couldn't give a number for how many times she'd stopped talking cause he hadn't wanted to, or she'd distracted him from troubling thoughts, or she simply let him work his shit out and just sat there cause she knew he liked her near.

She felt him step closer and recoiled, a hand held warding off his touch; she didn't wanna be touched, least of all by him. It wasn't supposed to be like this, _she_ wasn't supposed to be like this; she was supposed to be workin him over, using his obvious care for her against him. But she was gettin closer and closer to realizin' she didn't want this, she didn't want to play him, she didn't want her daddy dead. "I'm not gonna cry," she told him, hearing her thick voice choke around the knot in her throat.

"Okay," he said quietly not believin her for a second, not believin himself for a second. Nothing about it was okay, not Bo's death cause she obviously hadn't really wanted it, not him, and certainly not her. He was inching closer seeing her draw further in on herself, feeling himself tense the closer he came waiting for her to lash out; but her feet stayed, her entire body was pulling away from him but she never moved.

And after several long silent moments she'd let him reach her, let him wrap his arms around her shoulders and hold her. She didn't relax, her muscles didn't uncoil as they normally did when she was with him, when she felt safe and comfortable. It was all she could do to stand still, to not sink into the earth and disappear. And she found, inexplicably, that wrapping her arms around his waist kept her there, that his calm breathing soothed her heart into rhythm. She hadn't realized how much she'd needed someone to remind her she wasn't the only person in the world.  
It felt like eternity before she spoke, before she had a thought that actually made sense cause nothing had all day. "I hate bein hugged," she told him, almost mumbling against his shoulder. And saying something so true made her feel like herself again.

He didn't know how long they stood there, long enough he was ready to stop touchin her cause every time he breathed her hair tickled his nose. But he hadn't cause this is what she needed, whether or not either of them wanted it - and he was quickly startin to see how much she gave him when he was like this, which was more often than he'd let himself realize. "So let go," he replied, tasting the smell of her hair. She didn't, her arms didn't even flinch with contemplation she just stayed against him breathing; and if she wasn't lettin go then he sure as hell wouldn't.


	19. Chapter 19

She was quiet, that was the first thing he noticed the next morning sitting at the table watchin her make her coffee. He couldn't coax anything more than a faint smile out of her and it didn't stick longer than three seconds fore she was frowning. "You gonna tell me what's botherin you or are you gonna keep poutin,' cause Lyla that shit ain't cute anymore?" he asked accepting the mug she offered him.

She slid into the chair beside him, drawing her response out by first blowing into her coffee and then taking a sip. And then she sat back with little else to do than answer. "You're gonna judge the hell outta me," she said looking up to see a grin tugging on his mouth.

He probably shouldn't've found that funny considering what it'd mean, but he couldn't help it. "Like I don't already."

His good mood was gonna be ruined, again; he'd been fine last night fore she was a bitch, and he was bein so sweet that mornin' and she was gonna ruin it. "You're probably gonna yell," she further explained watching him turn serious; she couldn't have said it better if she told him she did somethin' she wasn't supposed to. "It wasn't just a blowjob," she said seein first his brows furrow then his jaw clench. "He needed a bit more incentive, so I gave him the location of one of the abandoned mine shafts my daddy used to dump bodies."  
She sat watching his face closely as he processed what she'd said, of what it all could mean. This hadn't been the plan, she'd never intended to tell him this cause he knew way too damn much to not know the underlining truth; but this included him too, that their bein together would drag him under the bus with her and she was finding that he deserved to at least know what he might be up against.

He was silent as he thought, as he wondered what exactly that dinner had been like if she'd told David all that and then sucked his dick after. Somehow that was what troubled him more; at least til he started asking questions. "D'you dump any of 'em?" he asked feelin so much dread sink in his stomach he wished he'd stayed quiet.

"Yeah I'm not real concerned bout that," she told him feeling herself shrink at the sight of his hard eyes. "I got hospital records."

"What," he raised a hand as though it might help him better understand, but honestly half the time she didn't make sense less he asked her to explain more – only he didn't wanna know more cause that meant she had quite the hand in her daddy's affairs, "what does that mean?"

She could see he was tryin to calm himself, to keep a level head and she knew that wouldn't last. "It means there's no staircase in all of Kentucky where fallin down would leave ya with a broken collar bone, broken femur, ribs," she motioned to her still injured sides, "and a cracked skull," she finished simply. He didn't happily process that, his hand clenched and unclenched and his jaw spasmed, and she didn't know if that was the thought of Bo hurtin her or that it was her excuse for why she'd enabled her daddy to kill more. It could go either way with him sometimes.

It was a little of both, on the one hand it was obvious she wasn't concerned with her criminal activity but it was also, painfully, obvious she had absolutely no choice in the matter. But that did not make his next question any easier on his mind or his stomach – which sunk and churned leavin an awful taste in his mouth. "Were any of the bodies your doin?" he asked finally turning to her, and he saw her shrink even further back as she gave just about the smallest nod.

From the moment she said she'd given David the site she'd been waitin for the storm to break – it didn't prepare her for how quickly he was outta his seat and stalking back and forth across the kitchen. The proof in his loud angry footfalls that he was tryin not to shake the hell out of her.

"How sloppy were you?" he asked hating that he had to, hating the whole damn situation he was now a part of and the fact that he wasn't the least bit surprised.

She'd nearly flinched at the volume of his voice – he was agitated, clearly shown in how quickly he paced the kitchen and how dark a look he cast her each time he passed where she sat. And he was yelling, not as loud as he had before but loud enough she nearly felt her eardrums vibrate with the assault. "Gloves, hair tied back, I even threw away the clothes I wore," she answered without drawin it out.

That was good, it limited the DNA she left and as well as the DNA left on her. Yet he was fuming, pausing to give her a scathing look fore he continued walking cause he didn't know what he'd do if he was still. "And the weapons?" He noticed that time he was shouting, he didn't notice the affect it had on her or might've stopped then – told her not to answer cause he didn't wanna be a part of this. But he was almost afraid he'd hit her if he looked at her again, if he saw her apathy toward her crime.

She was anything but apathetic, her eyes followin him warily, her leg bouncin up and down, her shoulders drawn in. She didn't know if she'd ever felt so nervous, if her mouth had ever been so dry; as though subconsciously her brain was trying to keep her from answering. "I have a container of sulfuric acid. It's all dissolved, essentially they don't exist." She didn't include the part about how she'd been the one to make the acid, she somehow didn't think he'd take that bit of knowledge well at all, to realize just how intelligent she could be when needed.

He couldn't appreciate how thorough she was, how undeniably clever; cause neither Boyd nor Bo would've thought of it or cared to make the time. She was a different kind of criminal, a potentially dangerous one. Yet he couldn't even hate her, not when she'd told him how Bo responded to the word 'no', not when he didn't wanna hate her. Even as he turned to give her another cold look he was thinkin how pretty she was in the glow of the early sunlight. And even more than that he could see the guilt in her widened eyes, in how deeply she frowned as she sat at the table lookin up at him.

She didn't know what look she was seein in his eye, it was mix of disbelief and fondness. fore he shrugged and began pacing all over again. Back and forth, over and over, his bare feet thumping dully on the floor, a hand often running through his messy hair. It'd surprised her the first time she'd seen him after a shower, to see his hair curly and hanging over his forehead makin him look young. She was gonna ruin everything, he'd either throw her out or arrest her; and she felt her heart quicken at the thought of either one. "Would it make you feel better if I sucked your dick?" she asked retreating to what she knew she could control, to what she knew would make him stay.

But he turned with his own wide eyes. "The world's problems aren't solved by you gettin on your knees," he told her more harshly than he'd meant; especially when he saw her retreat further in on herself. He saw then just how far she'd gone, that she'd even sunk lower in the chair, and he wondered if the next time she might just disappear. "Now I see why you were such a bitch last night," he said aiming for a joke but falling rudely short.

It was true the added stress of possibly bein arrested with proof of her involvement – which after calling Jimmy there wouldn't be evidence to find – had contributed to her own episode. But she was still offended by his comment. "Excuse you," she said waitin for an apology, or even an acknowledgement that he'd been crass.

But he turned on her. "You don't get to sit there and tell me you're a murderer than get all high and mightly bout me callin you a bitch," he said nearly spitting, seein' directly the affect of his anger. "Jesus Lyla how'd you think I'd take this?" he asked wondering why she'd told him in the first place. She'd made damn sure to not even hint she was dirty, yet there she was confessing to one of the worst crimes, one he'd have to turn her in for – and still he didn't think he could do it.

She shrugged without looking at him, though she was wary enough she made sure he was at least in her peripheral. "Well you haven't kicked me out yet," she said makin as miserable an attempt at a joke as he had.

Only she wasn't in the position to be makin jokes, and it only added fuel to the fire. "Are you kiddin me?" he demanded moving to where she sat cause he wanted her to see exactly how pissed he now was her flippant attitude. Only the moment he stepped closer he saw her recoil, saw the flinch in her creased brows and the squinting of her eyes – she'd braced herself to be hit open-handed. It's what she'd been raised on, what she expected cause her daddy taught her that's what she deserved. And there was something about seein her afraid of _his_ hands that had Tim slowly sitting in the chair next to her. She still wouldn't look at him, her eyes were level with his chest and it was clear she was watchin him, and he could feel just how tightly she was coiled like her resistance to him was a tangible thing. "I'm not gonna hit you," he said softly, gently and without touching her cause he knew she'd take it as an assault.

She didn't believe him, not that she really thought Tim would ever raise a hand to her but this was her and Bo's dance and it always ended in her bruised. "You realize you're makin yourself guilty by association?"

He saw then she didn't know why he was infuriated, that this was more than just anger at her havin killed people – no wonder she was so drawn in, she didn't know he was on her side. "Well I'm not askin for my benefit," he said watching her look at him confused. And they were left starin at each other, her waiting for more cause there was no way he meant what she thought, and him waiting for her to realize he did and knowing she was refusing to allow the hope of believing it. "I'm not gonna turn you in," he said spellin it out.

"Why not?" she asked without missin a beat.

He paused at how quickly she questioned why he wouldn't. "D'you want me to?" he asked not sure what she wanted, not that it was unusual he never knew what she wanted.

She pondered that herself, wondered why she'd felt it so necessary to tell him when all she was doin was givin him leverage. "It'd make sense," she finally answered, without actually answering.

For a moment he just stared at her blank face, seein so much swirling in her eyes but not enough to know what she was thinking, and he shrugged fore standing. "Yeah well when did this ever make sense," he sighed brushing the hair off his forehead, almost wishin it was her hand. "Be ready to go in fifteen."

She watched him leave the kitchen, listened to the sounds of his feet as they traveled to his room, not knowin whether to trust what he'd said. And that's all she had to go on now, blind trust – cause what she'd done was confess, made him a witness, and he honestly could find a way to nail her if he so chose. Her stomach was coiled in knots as she loaded their cups in the dishwasher, got dressed, and sat on the couch waiting for him to come out with his hair slicked back and a blue short-sleeved button up; god she loved him in blue.

"Know what you're gonna talk about today?" he asked wantin to know what they'd talked about yesterday, and he probably wouldn't hear about til later that night – unless investigators found something linking her to the bodies besides knowledge, then she'd be arrested. "Lyla," he said drawin the sound of her name out when she looked up at him guiltily.

"David'll probably ask how a fire started in the mineshaft and how awfully convenient it was," she said leavin' out the part about callin Jimmy the morning before telling him to do it as quick as he could.

Tim couldn't remember the last time someone said something worthy of the shock he felt then staring at the faltering little smile on her face, the one that said 'I did somethin real bad', a smile he'd seen only a few times. And it might've helped if she didn't look so damn cute. "Good lord," he mumbled turning away from her. "Put your shoes on, I'm drivin you."

She maneuvered her feet into the flats she'd bought, tired of walkin around in slippers though not as tired as she was of not bein able to bend down to pull on her boots, and stood waiting for him pull on his jacket. "Sure you don't want me to suck your dick?" she asked knowin he'd probably feel better not turning her in if he knew what her mouth could do.

There might've been a sliver of amusement but it was mostly exasperation in his eyes as he looked at her. "You sure you told me everything?" he asked not thinking he could handle anything else she threw at him, he'd cave eventually. "There anything you haven't covered?"

She shrugged not knowin how well he'd take her answer, but she'd say it regardless. "Only that I like ya enough to go to all the trouble."

He stared almost astounded at how easily the meek nervous woman melted into an almost sweet looking face as she walked out the door; even unhappy, wary of his reaction, wound up, she was still capable of trying to play him. With a shake of his head he locked the door behind him and climbed into his car. He didn't say a word the entire drive nor did she try to start a conversation, there was nothin to say at that particular point in time, but about halfway there he'd rested a hand on her leg wishin they could skip the office and drive til the sun bled. And he could tell from the way she sat without unbuckling after he'd parked that she wanted it too; and he wondered not for the first time if she'd done everything she could to make walking away impossible for him. Cause he had no qualms about goin' in knowin what he did. "Do me a favor," he said makin her look at him, and he took a moment to stare at her face, at the now yellowing bruise over her cheek, at her nearly trusting eyes, "don't tell David any of that."

She gave him a wry look. "Give me some credit," she told him before climbing out of the car leavin him to follow. She honestly half expected him to change his mind when they walked into the marshal's office, to realize exactly what she told him and decide he couldn't take her shit, she expected him to arrest her. But he did little more than walk around her to sit at his desk, leaving her to stand alone as she faced a very unhappy Vasquez.

"You didn't tell me you'd have them burned," he said while Art was still in his office, still able to find the patience for her, especially since he knew the conversation they were gonna have explained every reason why she'd turned out this way.

She gave a half shrug. "Couldn't be too careful," she said softly.

He gave a short unamused laugh as he looked at her now meek face – only he didn't buy her submission, he knew only a small part of her felt guilt and this act was specifically for his benefit. "Well now I get to lie to the chief and say Bo must've done it on the chance Boyd was caught, and if he asks you informed me Boyd knew the site as well," he said hushed as he looked at the person closest to them to ensure they weren't overheard. "And before you say anything," he said raising a finger in warning silencing her, "you owe me more than dinner."

She looked at him a moment fore nodding. "How bout for the rest of the week?" she said raisin her offer, seeing him consider it. "You won't remember your name by the end of it."

Tim watched the two of them talking quietly not likin any part of it, least of all the tempting in her eyes or that Vasquez uncomfortably swallowed as he walked into Art's office. "You lovebirds havin dinner again?" Tim asked with half concealed contempt.

She didn't think he'd be happy, but hell if she cared when it meant the insurance of her not goin to prison. "You know," she said leaning against his desk, "if you'd taken my offer earlier you'd understand my mouth's addicting, or so I've been told," she added, cause it wasn't like she'd know.

He didn't know whether to roll his eyes or laugh, so he settled with; "go talk to Raylan."

She smiled as she turned her back on him to face the meeting room, letting her mouth return to its perpetual frown as she stood in the doorway looking at the board Raylan was puttin up – seein' a photo of her daddy's face, lookin more handsome than he had a right, and below it one of him face first on the ground and blood in the middle of his back. Somehow his bein dead hadn't fully become reality to her, as if in the back of her mind she was still worried he was mad enough to kill her. But seein that photo, in it's impersonal callous way, she realized her daddy would never know she didn't hate him – that he'd died thinking he'd lost her love the day he lost her loyalty, and that wasn't at all true. "This wasn't what I wanted," she said in a voice so soft he wouldn't've heard her if he hadn't noticed she was there and stepped closer.

"Life in prison ain't that much different," Raylan said as a mediocre means of comfort. In truth he didn't know what to say, only reason a part of him was sorry was cause she was sad, the rest of him knew the world was a better off without Bo Crowder.

Hell she knew it too, didn't make it easier to stomach. "Least I could see him every weekend," she commented, forcibly tearing her eyes from that melancholy photograph. Then she was left looking at Raylan's sympathetic face as he leaned against the opposite side of the doorframe staring down at her, moving her arm fore he could touch her.

He lamely returned his hand to his side, wishing she'd let him comfort her more for his benefit cause he hated seein how upset she was; and the more he stared at her the more he saw it. "I asked about you workin here," he said changing the conversation to something a bit easier, though not much cause her mind quickly snapped into focus as she stared at him with wide eyes.

"I don't wanna work here," was the first thing she thought of saying, not understanding why he'd ever think that was a good idea. "Betchu anything Mr. Mullen's of the same mind," she said knowin without doubt that was true.

Raylan nodded having already been told by Art not to push it, he was in enough shit without adding Lyla. "Would'a helped if you hadn't erased all evidence from the dump site," he said seeing her shoulders slump as she sighed. And before she could object he spoke again, refusing to let her turn him down; "from the way Tim's been lookin at you I know you told him which means some part of you, possibly unknown to yourself, trusts him. So what I wanna know is why you came to me instead of him?"

He was tryin to goad the answer he wanted out of her, and whether or not she wanted to she knew she had to bite. "Shit Raylan, I didn't mean get me outta Harlan by workin here," she said very close to whining.

And he smiled at her pitiful face knowing she wasn't fightin him on it. "I ain't never seen someone play a person as easily as you; now go in there and make him feel sorry for you."

She hated his 'grown-up' face, the one he'd used when she was little and feelin like she could take on the world and didn't need to listen to nobody. And other than Bo she hadn't listened to a damn person, not Boyd or Bowman or Helen Givens not even Ava; cept Raylan when his eyes got stern. That look had always twisted her stomach and made her feel small, like she needed to apologize whether or not she'd done anything wrong.  
And there she was twenty years later feelin' just as small under that same stare. With deeply creased brows and her lips pulled tight she turned on her heel and stepped toward Art's office, casting Raylan another disgruntled look before she went in.

It was the same face she'd made twenty years ago, showin in every way she could she was not happy to be doin what he told her to. And he was feelin so amused and fond and reminiscent that he almost smiled as he turned back to the evidence board seein' she'd still do what he told her to. Granted she huffed and sighed and dragged her feet, but she was wrapped around his finger. And what made it better was that he'd seen so clear in her unhappy eyes that she knew it too.


	20. Chapter 20

Movement caught Raylan's eye and he looked to see Lyla standing beside David Vasquez and Art looking sternly down at her as she stared morosely up at him. He waited til Vasquez escorted her out before he followed Art into his office. "How'd it go?"

Art gave the younger man a look as he sat behind his desk. "Cut the shit, you're not here to ask what she said," Art said with enough bite it took Raylan by surprise.

He hadn't been asking for what she said but now he was mighty curious if it'd made Art this unhappy. "I take it you gave her a job," Raylan said cuttin to the chase cause his own lawyers were comin to ask about the shootings.

With a sigh he rubbed his brow wishin he'd told Raylan no, that under no circumstances would a Crowder be allowed to work in the marshal's office – but Raylan assured him there was always the courthouse. And after sittin for the past hour listening to Lyla say, in no such words, that Bo pimped her out at the ripe age of fifteen, and then as she refused to place any of the blame on her father, Art was finally startin to see not everything was her fault. He didn't melt all at once but his accusing finger was startin to bend. And hell, if she was gonna work in the building he'd at least keep an eye on her. "Three days a week, and she's gotta earn computer access. _If_ I can trust her, and I can throw that girl farther."

Raylan nodded having guessed as much, that she'd be left running Art's errands and answering phones and doin paperwork – she was gonna hate every second of it, and Raylan didn't feel the least bit guilty.

…

Lyla sat on the couch with a pitiful groan hearing Winona chuckle as she handed her a carton of take out. "If I have to get that man one more damn cup of coffee," she grumbled before shoving a forkful of fried rice in her mouth.

"I'd ask if you told Raylan but I don't think he cares," Winona said brushing the strands of that'd fallen out of the bun and into Lyla's face. "He seems happy to have you outta Harlan."

Lyla made a face before humming an agreement; it wasn't just her bein out of Harlan, Raylan was makin sure she paid dues for the crimes she committed. "You seein Raylan?"

"You seein Tim?" Winona asked in return making Lyla smile.

She finished chewing fore she replied, courteous enough to not chew with an open mouth though that probably wouldn't last long. "I'mma get my clothes for tomorrow and change into some sweatpants. So you goin on a date or just a little side action?"

Winona slapped her leg before she pulled on her heels and stood at the mirror fluffing her hair. "Why don't you keep some clothes at his place, you're there enough? Or is it him?" she asked looking at Lyla before turning back to check her makeup.

"You met Tim?" Lyla asked reaching for the fortune cookie. "We move at glacier pace and that's exactly how I like it, no need for fallin in love and shit."

She laughed shaking her head, taking her earrings out before deciding to put them back in. "Yet you snoop when he's asleep to see him makin room for you."

Lyla paused midchew, or rather midcrunch, knowing Winoa was talking about the pajama pants and shirt Tim put to the side of his drawer for her to wear when she stayed over unexpectedly. "I told you that in the strictest confidence."

"Yeah you were a little drunk too," Winona added before she turned to where Lyla sat with nothing else to fiddle with before she left.

Less than a week and Lyla could already read her like a book, not that it was too hard Winona was often very superficial and somehow entirely loveable for it. "I seen the way he looks at you, like a dog on a leash," she said seein' Winona's gentle smile. "You're not much better. Maybe don't fall quite yet, just see what happens."

Winona sat on the cushion opposite Lyla wondering how someone so opposed to love could have any advice let alone good advice. "So you don't think I'm being an idiot?"

It was the polite, less direct, way of asking if she was acting like a whore; and a different person might've had a different opinion, but Lyla's right and wrong was so blurred she'd never see it straight. "I'm not really in a position to judge."

She didn't know what Lyla had done only that she thought it best if Raylan didn't know she was stayin with her, and while Winona was very interested in the specifics she was also satisfied to enjoy Lyla's company – it was rare to find a person that offered no judgment, no condescending looks or advice or tired sighs, Lyla sat quietly and listened and somehow said exactly what Winona needed to hear. "Well, I'm gonna go. Should I assume I won't see you til Sunday?"

With a sigh Lyla nodded. "The drive to and from the cabin alone'll take the whole day, and I still gotta pack my things at my daddy's house."

"Speaking of which," Winona said cutting in, "I told Raylan that was your plan for Sunday and strongly suggested he help out." She gave a small smile seeing Lyla's not at all pleasant face; "yeah he looked about the same. I also tried to explain why it wasn't fair he ask about your brother at work, not sure how much that sunk in."

She'd been so frustrated and irate at Raylan's constant pestering about where Boyd was, cause Raylan knew Lyla helped him leave the hospital; and after two days she'd finally had it and smacked him with a folder warning the next time it'd be her fist. "I appreciate the effort," Lyla told her knowin Raylan would either recede or continue bein an asshole. "Have fun, and if you decide to go the moral route least enjoy the sex first," she said smiling as Winona laughed as she walked out the door.

The house was quiet without Winona, buzzing with appliances and electricity but it wasn't the kind of silence that lived, it was empty and cold – it was lonely, and as much as she didn't always like people she didn't like bein alone.

Not even an hour later she'd showered put on sweats and was layin with her head on Tim's chest as they laid on his couch watchin the news. He wasn't in much of a talking mood and she was just glad to have his heartbeat to stop her feelin like there was no one else in the world. The longer they lay quietly the more she started dozing off, one minute she was staring at the television and the next she was woken by a sudden loud voice; he felt her go and he'd take the time to play with her hair or run a hand along her back, touch her as she wasn't always in the mood for him to, and he'd stop the moment he felt her breathe in too deep with sleep disrupted.

"I have a question," she said hearing his muffled hum though his gaze didn't leave the television. "What days of the week do you want me?"

That'd taken him by surprise, or at least her phrasing had cause the simple answer was he usually wanted her every day of the week – but he knew her enough by then to know that wasn't exactly what she was talking about. "What d'you mean?"

She sat up enough to look down at his wondering face. "Winona and I are makin a schedule, who cooks what night when we'll do takeout when we're cleaning so her husband can show the house. Figured I'd include you," she said seein his curiosity in the twitching of his brows.

"Why would you figure that?" he asked wonderin, as he now was again, if he should wanna see her considering what she'd told him only a few days before. But should was an entirely different matter than want.

She responded simply, "cause you ruin the schedule," and he didn't know if his smile was from the way she'd turned a three syllable word into one or from how matter of fact she'd been.

That was one of the biggest reasons why talkin to her was so easy, s wasn't makin a big deal about knowin he wanted to see her - she knew he did that's why she was askin, but she did it in a way that his own answer didn't feel like a chore, like he was having to give her something to answer. "I guess Thursdays," he said keepin the claim he had on that day. "Maybe Tuesdays."

She nodded thinking of what she'd be doin, which was goin down to Harlan to keep up with the store and finding a manager since she was now the owner. "The days you don't see me at work, they include the weekend?"

"Well I wouldn't wanna get tired of you," he said watchin her smile fore she returned her head to his chest. There was something so comforting in the weight of her, it didn't feel like obligation, necessity, nor did it feel right in the way he'd once thought intimacy would – it just was, they just were. "You want me to go with you tomorrow?" he asked knowin with the weekend here she was gonna clean up the cabin, Mack's house, Bo's house, deal with the bodies, meet on Sunday with Mack's brother and his lawyer - who was entirely unhappy with being left out of the will and was suing Lyla for undue influence, which was complete bullshit cause the brothers were estranged. And then back to work Monday. It was no wonder he'd felt her shoulders tighten when his arm had wrapped around her, the last two weeks had been chaos and there'd been no relief. He didn't trust her to be on her own, he hadn't even trusted her enough to offer her a drink.

"Aren't you hangin out with your friend?" she asked not wantin him there, to have him anywhere near her fragile strength, nor did she think she was worth given up plans for.

"Sunday," he corrected knowing what she was doing, feeling it in her sigh.

"You were gonna do something Saturday."

He let his hand trail to her hair feeling her start to recoil fore she stilled. "The shootin range like every Saturday," he answered as she relaxed against him much as she could with the buzzing of her thoughts. "But it's a cabin, Lyla, I can shoot there."

Momentarily she forgot her resolve to keep him from coming and scoffed. "Just like a man, I'll clean while you shoot," she said remembering all the times Bowman had insisted to their daddy she wasn't good enough to hunt with them. "We got old targets somewhere," she added grumbling knowin the crooked grin that tugged on his mouth.

"They yours?" he asked wondering at her ability with a gun and whether the thought should be half as sensual as he made it.

She nodded slightly, hearing her hair brushing against his shirt. "Yeah," she answered with a tightening in her chest, "daddy taught me when I was six cause I wouldn't stop buggin him, gave me my first gun when I was ten,"

"Shit," he said thinkin that was entirely too young, at least too young for the little girl he was imagining.

"I'mma better shot than either brother," she said without any pride, it just simply was. "Never could kill anything though."

Tim thought about that, of her as a kid cause he was startin to see the little parts of her Raylan remembered; if he was right she really had been sweet. "D'you cry?" he asked, smiling at her nod. He stopped himself from sayin' 'that's my girl', a thought that surprised him cause that 'my' was so possessive. It unsettled him, made him feel jumpy, and so what he said was, "but not for people," feeling her still.

She'd been waiting for him to bring it up and was honestly surprised it'd taken him that long – though of course not as surprised as she'd been by his acceptance, that'd floored her. So instead of bein a smart ass she said, "I didn't say that." She sat up see his face, to let him see hers. "Don't get me wrong, at the time I couldn't've cared less. If I killed someone tomorrow it probably wouldn't bother me that much. But after a few months, maybe years," she let the rest of it hang, let him decide what he wanted about her as she settled back on his chest, feeling his hand wind in her hair.

He knew what she meant; at the time it was mechanical, a finger pulling the trigger, but years later a heart grew where one hadn't been before. And it left him numb with shock to realize she knew that feeling. "When are you leavin?" he asked, her answer dictating whether he went with her.

She thought about lying, she opened her mouth to say an hour later than she planned so she'd be gone fore he woke. But Boyd was wounded, and she didn't wanna spend the day talkin about the past, Devil wouldn't get out til Tuesday, Jimmy was manning the store, and a part of her honestly wanted Tim there cause he was the only person who didn't make her feel alone. "Five," she answered feeling him inhale at her honesty, "so if you're comin get up fore then."

"Yes ma'am," he said, his arm tightened around her pulling her closer, his mouth against her forehead as he wondered how they'd gotten to where he enjoyed holding her and she enjoyed bein held.

…

The drive was mostly quiet, and he was gifted with the peace of sittin in the passenger seat with his eyes closed. She didn't say a word and she probably wouldn't know how grateful he was, to sit not havin to think a damn thing. He didn't know the last time he'd been able to do that, or if he'd ever get to again.

He spoke first, realizing close to noon she probably wasn't enjoyin it as much as he was – not that she'd complain, she always gave him what he wanted without a word; he was only just now realizing how much. "You can turn the radio on if you want."

She looked over to see his eyes still closed, hands still folded over his lap, and his hair ruffling in the wind; he looked so content. "Want me to touch your leg too?" she teased with half the amusement she should've had as they drove to one of the places that held her happiest memories and was the place her father was killed.  
By the time Tim opened his eyes to look at her, hearing the unfeeling in her voice, she'd already turned back to the road and was takin a long drag on a cigarette; and he did all he could, nothing more than a hand on her thigh. A wry grin curled the right corner of her mouth but she didn't turn to him. "Guess that's your job," she said trailing her fingers along his hand just long enough to make him want to hold it fore she gripped the steering wheel. And he was left starin at her thinking she must've cast some kind of spell if he'd given up a day at the shooting range to help her clean up the blood of lesser men than the ones Tim once knew.

They didn't reach the cabin til after lunch, and they might've been at least thirty minutes earlier if he hadn't enjoyed the barbeque joint she'd been goin to every hunting season since she could remember. There was no way to eat the 48 hour marinated ribs besides bathing in 'em, he'd had barbeque sauce all over his mouth and she'd spent a time licking it off her fingers – it was so damn good he'd honestly considered lickin it off her hand himself.

Soon as they climbed back in her truck he unbuttoned his jeans. "You wanna take a nap when we get there?" she teased though that ended up bein exactly what they did. They laid in the room she and Boyd used to share, her on her back and Tim on his side with an arm slung over her waist.

She woke fore he did and laid there long enough to doze off again before she checked his watch to see it was almost three, and she sighed fore slipping beneath his arm and began the process of cleaning. Scrubbing the wall, the window, taking a hose to the stains in the driveway. If Tim hadn't been inside she probably would've given more thought to washing away the last of her daddy, might've even let herself think about him. But she knew exactly where that'd lead, she could already feel a lump tightening in her throat, and she didn't know or care for Tim enough to let him see her cry. So she washed the blood away and threw the hose down fore goin back inside, locking any remnants of love she bore her daddy away.

He was rubbin his eyes when she got back to the room. "Finally notice I was gone?" she asked fore she started lookin through her things for what she wanted to take; mostly a few books, an old blanket, some pictures. There was a time she went to the cabin to escape, to breathe, she knew she had several sweaters in the closet and she went to rifle through them when she stumbled upon the most beautiful thing. "Shit," she exclaimed softly.

"What?" he asked lifting his hand from his eyes to look at her back.

"Well," she said smilin big enough he heard it in her voice beneath the rustling of fabric as she pulled the whitest dress from the closet.

"Shit," he reiterated sittin up as he watched her hold the wedding dress to her chest and sway slightly. Her dark messy hair, pale skin, that white dress; she'd've made one hell of a bride.

She sat on the bed with dust tickling her nose, her fingers running along the pearled pattern over the chest. "I always forget it's here," she said softly as a rush of her best and worst memories flooded behind her eyes. "I'd've been in North Carolina right now," she said imaging the life she and Jimmy had once dreamed. "Next year would've been our tenth anniversary, we'd've had kids, a big house. Everything I ever wanted."

Her face was almost vulnerable in that moment, the late noon sun peaking through the curtains making her skin look golden, illuminating every bit of her sadness. "What happened?" he asked brushing her messy hair behind her ear, not enjoyin the thought of never knowing her.

With a shrug she looked at him, her face now smooth as stone. "I ruined it," she said as though it were the most natural thing. She stood hanging her momma's dress in the closet, storing every hope she'd had in the world. "I'll ruin this too," she said turning back to Tim who was now on his feet. "Gotta habit of ruinin everything I want. Come on, I'll show you the guns – and fore you can ask, no, we don't got permits for all of 'em."

He spent the next hour in the woods shootin' her old targets, pretending like he wasn't affected by her casual admittance that she wanted him, as she went through the house packing anything valuable or otherwise she wanted to take. A measly box, that's all she was taking. And he noticed the dress wasn't included.

He drove back, insisted on it really cause she was now in a somber quiet mood and he didn't quite trust her not to crash the car. They drove in complete silence with nothing but the rushing air through his window between them, and he almost wished that silence hadn't been as comforting as it was. Cause if he'd said anything he would've asked about who she'd almost married, if she still kept in contact with him – if it'd been the boy he met at diner, the one she'd 'sucked too many dicks in exchange for Bo not killin him.' There were so many questions he wanted to ask, that he never would cause he wasn't that kind of guy and she wasn't talking. But goddamn that dress, and now knowin she wanted everything; a husband, kids, outta Kentucky. Even in a mood she could still seem perfect.

It was late when they reached Mack's house, getting fast food and eating as they drove. She didn't comment on him knowin the address, just like she hadn't when Raylan had shown up – there were no shadows for a Crowder to hide. Boyd couldn't even stay under the radar an entire week fore word got out where he was; their private information was practically public knowledge to law enforcement.

It wasn't at all what Tim expected; Mack had been dying, he'd expected the smell of piss and shit. But the entire house was spotless, smelling like candles and air freshener; all except the small bloodstain on the carpet where the couch used to be. He didn't know how she'd react, if she'd be a bitch lashing out, if she'd just turn for bedroom not bothering tonight.  
He watched her silently go to the kitchen, rummage around turn on the sink, and return with a soap-filled bucked and a scrubbing brush fore she got on her knees and started cleaning. He stood at the front door watching her, barley seeing when her shoulders started shaking, didn't realize she was crying til she made this awful choked gasp - but by then she was clearing her throat, pushing her hair back, and carried on scrubbing.

She was almost relieved when Tim left Sunday morning to go somewhere, she hadn't been listening, with his friend; and then she spent much of the afternoon feelin guilty for how glad she was he was gone, cause she didn't really mean it. And then Raylan showed up at her old house just bringin everything full circle, a reminder she didn't need of everything she'd lost.

He walked to the porch seein her leaning against the doorway, ragged and broken in the way he felt going back to his old house. "Hey Lyla Jo," he greeted fore stopping in front of her.

"You know I sat right there," she said pointing to the front step, "for many weeks swearin up and down you were gonna come back. Didn't realize how long you were gonna take."

He never could think of leavin in terms of leavin her without feeling so much guilt he could barely stand. "I'm guessin 'it's the thought that counts' don't apply to this situation," he said seeing her small smile fore it wilted.

"He'd've killed you, so, don't feel too bad." She recoiled from the hand he raised reaching for her, resigning him to lowering his arm without any means to comfort her. "I only need help carryin the boxes, since I can't lift anything."

…

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so lost, like gravity had lessened around her and she was left just trying to keep herself on the ground. That was a lie she knew exactly when she'd felt this lost, the wedding dress was a reminder of the life she almost had where she'd've been happy and in love and gone. And it wasn't Jimmy she wanted, ten years ago she'd run to the cabin for several weeks not even bothering to call him – and she hadn't wanted Raylan then cause she barely remembered him and she didn't really want him now cause she still barely remembered him, and as much as she wanted Tim she just didn't trust him enough nor did he know enough. It wasn't Jimmy, wasn't Raylan, wasn't even Boyd cause he was useless when she was like this.  
It truly figured that the person she wanted, after cleaning up the blood of two people she'd cared for and packing their houses and dealing with their bodies, and then goin to work the next day and dealin with marshals givin their half-assed condolences and patting her shoulder like they gave a shit, and dealin with Art who'd brought her in his office cause she was lookin for all the world like she was gonna hit someone – after all that, she wanted the same person she ended up wanting ten ago, the guy who'd brought her back to Harlan and given her the kick in the ass she needed and the promise of a new future.

Come Tuesday morning Lyla sat impatiently in her truck with her legs jiggling and her teeth grinding as the minutes slowly ticked by. And then the tell tale sound of the prison gate opening boomed and she was jumping out of the truck to greet Devil with the biggest grin she could find the strength to muster. The sight of him tore apart the last of her will, what had kept her from cryin in front of Tim and then with Raylan, seein' him was like her shattered world slowly fittin back together. Her smile wilted as her chin quivered, the dam behind her eyes finally breaking, and Devil held her tight against him revealing as he always did in her need.

* * *

_First things first, that was the end of the first episode of the second season; four chapters, a bit longer than I anticipated but it's been a huge development for Lyla's character, as well as her relationship with Tim. Also, I should be done with episode 2 next chapter, if not episode 3 as well; so the pace will pick up soon. _

_Secondly, I've been thinking of writing a prologue to this story that would showcase her relationship with Jimmy - showing the kind of love she used to be capable of. And also showing the person she used to be, that she'll slowly start to be again. I might also go into her meeting David Vasquez, cause they have an interesting relationship. It also probably won't be 20 chapters. So please let me know what you think, and as always thank you so very much for reading._


End file.
